Normal
by sss979
Summary: Murdock's innocent fun with the girl next door turns to anything but. Season 5. Book 17 of 19
1. Prologue

**RATING: R**

**SUMMARY: Murdock's innocent fun with the girl next door turns to anything but. Season 5.**

**WARNINGS: Sex, mild violence.**

**PROLOGUE**

**Virginia, 1986**

The black Cadillac dropped Murdock off right in front of his apartment complex, and he waved at it as it drove off. Part of it was courtesy and part of it was his own special "good riddance." Had he been in any less of a good mood - even marginally less - it would've taken effort not to wave only one finger. He _hated _working for that man. Unfortunately, there was not a damn thing he could do about it. As long as Stockwell had the team, he had Murdock bought and paid for.

He sighed as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, grabbed his keys, and headed up the sidewalk to his apartment. Even months after he'd moved in, it still felt strange. For the first time in his entire life, he was living alone. Not by choice; he would have preferred to stay with the team if it had been an option. Of course, living here had definite advantages. Autonomy, for one. And privacy. He didn't have to worry about his employer bugging his bedroom, and his living room could be a safe place for any one of the guys if they needed time away. It was one of the few places Stockwell _wouldn't _harass them for visiting. But in spite of all of that, it had downfalls too - not least of which was the fact that all the silence was boring as hell. And lonely.

Their latest mission had been uneventful. That was good in the sense that it meant no life threatening injuries or lasting trauma; missions that had either were hard to count a "win." But that didn't mean "win" situations were profitable and it certainly didn't mean they were enjoyable. It was hard to find any semblance of either in the missions Stockwell sent them on. Apart from the rare occasion that they ended up helping some person or group as an aside to the mission itself, it was the same damn thing over and over again. Steal this, stop that from happening, rescue this person or that one. Politics, all of it. And he hated it.

He wasn't even halfway to his door when movement in his peripheral vision made his head turn instinctively. From there, he did a double take. Halfway up the steps to the second floor and struggling with an easy chair that was as big as she was, a woman he'd never seen before was lifting it one step at a time, trying to keep it from slipping back down the stairs.

Murdock didn't think. Dropping the keys back into his pocket, he picked up the pace until he reached the bottom of the steps. "Need a hand with that?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Yeah," she answered, out of breath. "That'd be great."

He smiled as he bounded up the stairwell, skirted around her and the chair, and took the other end of it. He was startled by the weight of it. He had plenty of energy, but she looked worn out by the effort of getting it from the parking lot to the steps. As well she should have; this was definitely a two man job. By the time they finally set the chair in her living room, next to the small stack of boxes against the wall, she immediately collapsed into it, breathing hard.

"You alright?" he asked, slightly concerned.

She nodded, and wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand. "Thanks." She leaned over and grabbed a bottle of Diet Pepsi from off the floor, taking a long drink. Finally, she looked back up at him. "There's a mattress still down there if you're feeling ambitious."

He smiled. "Sure."

For the first time, he took a good look at her. She was pretty - long, blond, slightly curly hair, long face, long legs. Lots of "long." She was probably as tall as he was, and at least as old. Of course, he'd never point that last part out. That would be stupid. It would also ruin any chance he had of getting her to go to dinner with him. And dinner with his new and pretty neighbor was a damn good way to kill the boredom that lie waiting for him at his own apartment.

She took another long drink, then rose to her feet. "Beverly Richards," she introduced. "I'd shake your hand but..." She held up her palms towards him to demonstrate the fact that her hands were in no condition to properly shake. They were covered in sweat and dirt and dust, just like the rest of her.

He grinned, and nodded his greeting instead. "HM Murdock. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you. Now come on before I run out of energy."

He chuckled to himself. Bossy, wasn't she?

Without another word, she was back out the door. He followed a step behind. "Would it be presuming too much to say you're new to the area?" he asked as he started down the stairs.

"Why would you think that?"

"Oh, I dunno." He smiled. "'Cause you're lugging heavy furniture up stairs with no one to help you?"

She stopped beside a red pickup truck with a white utility trailer on the back of it. In the trailer was a queen size mattress and box spring. Leaning against the truck, she turned to him and smiled. "You're very observant."

He returned the grin. "I make a point of it."

"I'm new to the area," she granted. "I don't have much to move in the first place, but I really wanted a bed and a place to sit."

"Well, if you need any help moving any more furniture... just let me know."

She smiled. "Thank you. I'll do that. Now grab the other end of this."

Murdock grinned, and gave a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

Living in this apartment complex may have just gotten a bit more interesting.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

She answered the door in a solid black push-up bra and a pair of cutoffs that had to slant down to come together between her thighs. Murdock worked hard to hide his surprise, but he felt like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes popped out of their heads before snapping back in. There was no way he could stop a lopsided grin from forming. Hair half pulled up but falling out of the clip, her forehead glistening with sweat...

He just had to admire someone who was that comfortable with herself. Come to think of it, he had answered doors in less. But he'd known when he did that it wasn't normal. He'd had an excuse; he was certifiably insane. What was her excuse? The thought made him smile.

Whatever she'd been doing, she'd been hard at it. But she didn't seem upset by the interruption. Instead, she beamed as she saw him standing there. "Hey, Murdock! Come on in."

If she even noticed that she'd forgotten to put on a shirt, she didn't show it. Not that the bra was incredibly revealing; he'd seen worse at the beach. But it was the principle of the thing. Smiling, he forced himself to look at her face as he accepted her invitation.

"I thought you might wanna share a pizza with me so you wouldn't have to worry about unpacking pans and trying to cook."

She laughed as she shut the door behind him. "Pans? I'd be lucky to unbury the stove."

She put up both her hands to try and retie her hair, heaving a big sigh as she looked at the boxes around the living room. It looked like she'd just dumped the contents onto the floor and started sorting in no particular order. If there was any organization to the chaos, it wasn't evident in any way shape or form.

"Sorry about the mess. But I _am_ unpacking."

Part of him wanted to tuck the piece of hair that had escaped her clip behind her ear. But instead, he just smiled and held the pizza, looking around for a place to set the box. "Leave it this way and just tell people you hired a decorator and he assured you this is the latest 'in' thing." He grinned at her. "That way you can save yourself the hassle of unpacking and organizing."

She cleared a space on the floor with her foot, shoving clothes and books and papers of all sorts to the side, then picked up one of the boxes and flipped it upside down, setting it in the cleared space. "Table," she declared.

"Works for me."

"We'll have to do without chairs. Care for a drink? She headed to the kitchen. I've got water and... water."

Murdock set the box down and looked up just in time to be treated to the view of her walking away from him and into the kitchen. God bless that pair of jeans that had given its life to become cutoffs. She had a beautiful set of legs.

"I think I'll take the water, please."

This was so much better than sitting alone next door.

She returned a moment later with two champagne glasses full of water and a smile. "Haven't found the regular cups yet. I think they're in that stack over there." She pointed to the boxes still against the wall. Handing him one glass, she sat down on the floor nearby, legs crossed in front of her.

For a moment, she was quiet. Leaning his back against the wall, he watched her curiously. "So where are you from, Bev?"

"Miami, Florida." She took a bite. "You?"

He gave a wide grin and tipped his head towards her. "Originally, west Texas. But I've been in LA for the past ten years before coming here."

"Texas, huh?" She smirked, and her eyes raked him up and down noticeably, blatantly. "Is it true that everything's bigger in Texas?"

"Of course." He let his smile match the one he was feeling inside as he returned the look. "Just look at me. I have a huge," he paused for effect, "brain."

She smiled, contemplating him quietly as she finished the slice of pizza and washed it down. "So how do you use that big brain?" She reclined against the wall, bending one knee and resting her arm on it. She seemed far more interested in him than the pizza. He wasn't complaining. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a pilot." He realized only after he'd said it that it might not have been the best answer. It would be hard to define, if she wanted details, without lying. And after all, he could've given her a half dozen other job titles, all of which he'd held in the past two months. But he was relaxed and comfortable, and he told the truth without thinking. Strange, how reassuring her presence was. There was just something about her. It was an odd feeling.

She was staring at him, he realized belatedly, with a startled look on her face. He raised a brow. "Something wrong?"

She shook her head quickly, as if clearing away a fog, then finally smiled. "No. No problem."

He eyed her a moment before reaching for another slice, once again offering it to her first. His Grandma had taught him manners, he just rarely got a chance to practice them. "What about you?" he asked.

She shrugged, then leaned forward to take the pizza from him. "Whatever I feel like." She paused for a bite. "I actually came out here for a job, if you can believe it. They offered me twice what I was making to come work in a corporate office and answer phones."

He raised a brow. Twice the salary just to answer phones? No one got paid double anything to answer phones. He would know, since he had worked answering phones for an advertising firm three jobs back. He hadn't lasted the day. There was just too much temptation to relieve boredom by answering calls in Chinese, or speaking words without using the letter L.

She shrugged. "Contract is for two years but I don't know if I'll stay that long. I get... restless."

That much, he could believe. And relate to. "Things can get boring quick."

She was looking at him with an open appraisal that he found refreshing. She seemed to be completely comfortable and secure in everything she did. Yet it wasn't off-putting. Not like a defense mechanism.

"You move around a lot?" He nodded his head towards the boxes. That restless energy about her made him think she did.

She shrugged. "Moving around a lot has definite advantages." She watched him for a moment, then put her half-finished piece of pizza down. "Though it is lonely, on occasion."

There was something in her tone, soft and almost-serious but not quite, that had his smile changing as he studied her closely. It wasn't melodramatic or even particularly emotional. A statement of emotion, with no emotion actually carried inside of it. They where heartfelt words but with no heart. Clinical emotion, full of logic and reason.

"Being lonely has nothing to do with moving," he offered. A small, half grin tugged at his mouth. He understood lonely a little too well. "You can stay in one place forever and be lonely." He shifted slightly so that he was facing her, studying her curiously. "You can be in a room full of people and be alone."

She smirked. "And you can be in a room by yourself and not lonely at all."

He hesitated for a moment, watching her. Where was she going with that?

She must have sensed the question, because she laughed quietly as she glanced at his expression. "I was an only child. I spent a lot of time in a room all by myself. And I don't think I ever got lonely as long as I had my imaginary friends and GI Joe."

He almost laughed at that. "GI Joe? Really?"

"Yeah, and all the little army guys." She grinned. "I was never much for Barbies."

At that, he did chuckle, and her grin remained in place as she sat back against the wall. "My dad would buy them for me. He'd sit there and play them with me, too. My mom _really _thought there was something wrong with me. She'd come in my bedroom and it'd be wall to wall army guys on every flat surface and I'd be screaming, 'No no no! Don't touch them! You'll mess up the whole battle plan if they fall off the Top Shelf Cliff!"

That was entirely too much. As she erupted in laughter, he joined her. Finally, as the laughter died down, he turned and studied her curiously. "So now what do you do when you feel lonely? You still keep an emergency supply of army guys in your dresser?"

She studied him for a long moment with a smirk. "I still like to play with army guys. Only the ones I play with now don't fit in my dresser."

He cocked an eyebrow.

She smiled knowingly, but didn't continue. Instead, her eyes fixed intently on him. They lingered far longer, far more intensely than anyone only speaking with him for the second time should be allowed to. The look caught him off guard for a moment, and he looked away instinctively. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and fourteen years of hiding among souls that didn't want to be seen had conditioned his response to prolonged eye contact. It didn't bother him normally. At least, not enough to make him actually conscious of his response. But that was probably largely because nobody really looked at him that hard. Except maybe Face, and never without a reason.

"I like you," she said quietly, simply.

Cautiously, he raised his eyes to hers again. The smile on her lips - like she had a secret, or maybe a million of them - was inviting. There was something in that look that was foreign to him. And not only foreign, but intriguing.

Slowly, she pushed off of the wall and crawled the few feet toward him. There wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation or insecurity in her stare - locked with his - as she put one leg on the other side of his, straddling him, and took his face in both hands, pulling his lips to hers.

He wasn't the least bit startled by the kiss. He'd known what she was going to do the moment she'd moved, even if he hadn't really realized that he knew. His hands moved instinctively - around her, caressing her, playing over the soft, warm skin on her back, up to her shoulder blades. Her lips parted against his, her tongue tracing the edge of his teeth before probing slowly, deeply. God, she could kiss...

She pushed her hands inside his jacket, then down his arms, with just enough force to make her intentions clear. Instinctively, pleasure and anticipation ran through him. How long had it been since he'd gotten laid? It had to be almost a year. Too damn long... In the back of his mind, he realized he barely knew her. He'd just met her for the first time a few hours ago. He'd come over to be a nice neighbor, not for this. But as she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, any thoughts he had of slowing down were suddenly gone.

Surreal. Everything was a blur. Friction and tension and warmth. A slow and steady rhythm, skin against skin, heat igniting more heat. It was drugging in its intensity and disorienting by nature. She claimed his lips again as she moved her hands to his shoulders and pushed him back onto the floor. Leaning over him, she let her mouth travel along his jaw and the side of his neck, lighting his nerves on fire everywhere she touched.

Then somehow he was on top of her and she was underneath him, smiling. That look she was giving him was just as powerful, contained just as much sensation as her touch. The whole world had suddenly disappeared and the only thing that mattered was being with her, inside her. He heard a sound from his own throat, almost like a growl as he kissed her hard. It almost startled him, but she only moaned.

That steady rhythm was throbbing between them. In time with her hips, thrusting up against his hand, and the arch of her foot rubbing his calf. In time with their breathing, and the pulse of the blood rushing to his groin. She moved her hands down from his shoulders, past his chest, his abs, flipping open his belt with practiced ease and slid her hand down and inside of his boxers. There was no hesitation as she wrapped her hand around him.

His breath caught, and he shut his eyes hard, fighting for control. He could've come right then and there. Primal, inexplicably raw need. He needed her naked. With one hand he yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it, fingers fumbling for the small foil wrapper. His other hand ripped down her zipper and she helped him get her shorts down, kicking them off as she pushed his slacks past his hips. With impressive speed, Bev grabbed the condom packet from his hand, opened it and unrolled over him. She'd done this before. Immediately, her legs were up and around him. Then he was inside of her, groaning with pleasure.

She may have done this before, but she hadn't done it recently. She was unbelievably tight. And it felt unbelievably good to be buried inside of her. Hot and wet, they rocked steadily against that building pulse. Every inch of him that touched her wanted to be closer. He could feel her breasts pressing into his chest, her legs on his waist. The rhythm, pace, depth increasing until he was lost.

It wasn't enough. The friction, sweat, intensity, pressure building past any point he had ever imagined existed, and still he wanted more. He needed more. She was on her back, but she was anything but passive. She thrust against him, meeting him over and over again, clenching her inner muscles down around him like a vise. Her shoulders rose and fell in time with her gasps for air, and her back arched against him in time with his forceful thrusts.

Faster. Harder. He drove into her, trying to reach that... damn, he had no idea. She pushed back, urging him further, fanning the flames. Finally her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted wide as she held her breath for a moment, quieting the whimpers that were escaping with every breath. Her sounds, the way she clamped down on him, hard, her nails digging into his back, her body cling to him... It was all he knew. It was everything.

He waited to hear her cries, barely holding onto his control. When he finally heard them, he let go all at once and lost himself in her, plunging deep. He moaned something that sounded almost like her name as he ground his hips on hers, and came deep inside of her.

Had anything in his entire life ever felt so damn good?

She was gasping as she finally stilled. He didn't move, letting his reality adjust. Head dropped forward, braced on his forearms so as not to add his weight to her, he let his heart rate slow and breathing even out. Her legs and arms fell loosely to the floor and she laughed softly. He was aware of it, and aware of the pleasure coming from all the places where they were still touching.

"I don't suppose this means I could get you to take me out to dinner sometime," she asked softly, stroking her fingers through his hair.

The sheer irony of that proposition was astonishing. He chuckled as he opened his eyes to look down at her. She was smiling. Perfect. He definitely needed to get to know her better.

"Anytime, Bev." He kissed her neck softly as he took a slow, deep breath, drawing in her scent. "Anytime."


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Face stared at the contents of Murdock's refrigerator in amazement. More appropriately, he stared at the decided lack of contents. For someone who could eat his own body weight in food and still have room for dessert, Murdock never seemed to pay much attention to what he had on hand.

A two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, a can of Hawaiian Punch, a half empty bottle of ketchup and a six pack of butterscotch pudding cups were all forlornly huddled together on the top shelf. That was it. Face hadn't really expected to find a meal, but he had hoped for something to drink that wasn't marketed with a jingle. Glancing at Murdock who was leaning against the counter, he let out a sigh.

"Murdock, you went out with a nutritionist. Didn't you learn anything?"

"I learned lots of things from Shana."

Face rolled his eyes at the broad grin that implied a lot more than it stated. For all of the many female friends Murdock had acquired since coming to Virginia, Face had his doubts as to how many of them he had made it past first base with.

"Hey, I don't know what you're complaining about," Murdock cried, pushing off the counter and leaning over the open fridge door. He peered inside as he continued. "I have all four basic food groups in there. Caffeine, sugar, condiments and dessert."

"Ah, but you forgot alcohol."

"Meh, that's at the very top of the pyramid. Not really necessary for a growing boy."

"I think I'm going to stock your apartment with wine." Face closed the fridge. "Or at least beer. You'd drink that."

Murdock made a face. "If you buy it, it'll stay right there waiting for you. My days of drinking that crap are long over."

Face chuckled. "A dark, cold, German or Irish beer tastes _nothing _like 'that crap' if you're referring to Vietnam. That stuff can't even rightly be called beer."

Murdock shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat, Facey. Like I said, you buy it, you'll drink it."

Face checked the cupboards for tea or coffee. He found only Kool-aid and Tang. "Heaven forbid you should have _anything _here not full of sugar."

"Of course everything I have is full of sugar! It's the finest of the food groups."

Face sighed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Murdock wandered over to the balcony door and gave a jaunty wave to the two men sitting ever-so-noticeably in the car across the street.

"Covert surveillance," Murdock said with a smile. "Those two chuckleheads are great."

"Those two chuckleheads are getting on my nerves," Face answered, giving up and finally resigning himself to a glass of water from the tap.

"Aw, why? They're so _cute_!"

Face scowled. But he wasn't about to complain about Murdock's good mood. It was a welcome change from the oppressive air of the compound. Funny how a three hundred dollar a month, rundown apartment could be so much more appealing than a multimillion dollar estate.

"When's the last time you exterminated your apartment?" Face asked, while he was thinking about it. No glasses in the cupboards. God only knew where he was keeping them.

"About ten minutes before you got here. No creepy crawlies to be found. Not even behind the switch plates."

Just because Stockwell had yet to bug Murdock's place, didn't mean it paid to be careless. The last thing Face wanted was Stockwell's lackeys listening in. He had come to Murdock's apartment to get _away_ from that.

Face opened the last cupboard, then turned to look at Murdock. "Cups?"

Murdock gestured all the way across the little dining room to a door, as if everyone kept their eating utensils in the other room. "Pantry."

"You move things every time I come here, do you realize that?"

Murdock smiled. "I get bored easy."

The coffee mugs were, indeed, in the pantry. When he saw the bottle of wine next to them, he blinked in surprise.

"Well I'll be. You do have some taste after all."

"Huh? Now don't go spreading rumors like that about me."

Face pulled the unopened bottle down for a closer look. He didn't recognize the brand, or anything other than the fact that it was French.

"Oh, yeah. That was a gift. You want it? I won't drink it."

1947 Cheval Blanc. One hell of a gift. "Gift from who?"

The way Murdock smiled made it clear there was a story to be told there. "Somebody else who wouldn't drink it."

Face set it on the counter as Murdock flopped down on what had to be the world's ugliest sofa and tucked his arms behind his head. "You and Jess could have a bottle on me."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

With an audible sigh, Face opened the bottle and poured the pale yellow wine into the burnt sienna coffee mug. Classy.

"After that close call with Stockwell, I've been nervous about even bringing her out here."

Murdock frowned. "That was a long time ago, already."

"Not long enough."

"Are you saying you haven't seen her since way back _then_?" Murdock asked in disbelief.

Not answering, Face flipped the cork over, replaced it, and set the bottle in the fridge to chill as he raised the coffee cup and breathed deep. It smelled bittersweet and complex, potent and inviting. The first sip shocked him. That was _damn _good wine.

"You're both lonely as hell without each other."

"Where did you say you got this bottle?" Face asked, raising the glass.

"Why? Is it good?"

"Exceptionally."

Murdock nodded. "Good. Now back to the topic at hand..."

"What topic?" Face asked with an innocent smile. He knew damn well the two of them were pushing this conversation in opposite directions.

"Maybe you can scam a plane. You could fly Air Murdock out to see her. We are known throughout the industry for our discretion and I could use a trip to LA."

Face sighed as he crossed to the living room and sat across from Murdock on the oversized, equally hideous easy chair. "I bring her out here every couple weeks. Going back to see her... isn't really an option. It walks a fine line on violating the terms of our agreement with Stockwell and, more importantly, it would pique his interest. As it is, he can't prove whether I'm sneaking off to see someone specific, or paying a prostitute. Or even that I'm seeing anyone at all."

He hoped.

Murdock smiled, but he didn't force the issue. Instead, he changed the topic. "I got another job!"

"Oh?" Face asked with interest. What could it possibly be this time? The last job, at the tuna cannery, had ended only two and a half days after it started. Face had yet to get the exact story on why Murdock was fired, but he knew it involved a several stray cats and the fire department.

"Yeah, at the xylophone factory. I figure that ought to look good on a resume."

After all these years, sometimes it was still hard to tell when Murdock was being sarcastic and when he was dead serious. This was more than sarcasm. There was something hidden in that statement that Face could feel.

"You know, you oughtta broaden your horizons a little, Murdock."

"Twenty sixdifferent jobs in the six months is pretty broad."

"I mean socially. When was the last time you went out for fun?"

Murdock's smile was a dead giveaway that it hadn't been all that long. Good. He'd been looking for a way to bridge into that conversation.

"It's a little hard to be social when you never know when you're going to be around. It gets a little awkward when you have to blow off an engagement to stop a revolution in South America, or steal State secrets from Russia. Hallmark doesn't really make a card for that sort of thing. "

Face nodded, still watching him. He thought he'd covered up that grin very nicely. He was dead wrong.

"So who is she?"

"Girl next door." Funny, he didn't even hesitate to answer.

"Sounds promising." Face sipped his wine, smiling. "Tell me she's the one who gave you this wine, and I'll like her even more."

Murdock grinned. "As a matter of fact, she is."

Face smiled.

Murdock shrugged, trying so hard to play it cool it was comical. "She's just someone. No one all that special."

"Uh huh. You know that 'just got laid' smile you say I get?"

"Yeah?"

"You're wearing it."

Murdock laughed, not even trying to wipe it away. "Aw, come on, Face. What do you care if I did?"

"I don't care in the least."

Murdock was still smiling.

"So what's her name?"

Murdock grinned. "A gentleman doesn't bandy a lady's name; you should know that."

Face raised a brow. Murdock was playing, counting on Face to be interested. That meant there was something to tell.

"I thought she was just a woman," Face pointed out. "Now she's a lady without a name?"

"I never said she was just a woman. I said she was just _someone_. Big difference."

"You didn't have a problem naming Gwen, Lorriane, Candy, Trixie, Adel, Marissa, Wanda, Jennipher - with a ph, I remember - Autumn, April..." He paused. "Did I miss any?"

Murdock shrugged. "Yeah, but there's something different about her."

"She's better looking, I hope. 'Cause the last girl you went out with..."

"I haven't gone out with anyone in a long time," Murdock said. "They were just friends."

"And this one's not."

"No. Well, yeah. I don't know." Murdock frowned. "Kind of don't know what to do for a real date. Not because I can't think of something creative, but it's just that I'm not really sure I really want to get into the dating scene again. Or maybe... ever."

He was talking. Face shut up and let him go. He'd talk himself in circles now that he was reflecting, voicing his thoughts out loud. Hell, he'd say things that no sane and/or normal person would say out loud, just the way they crossed his mind.

"I mean, I was never really in the dating scene. Unless Vietnam counts and... no. It doesn't. Even there, I didn't _date_. There was just a few. And then there was Kelly. And I really thought - I really did - that I'd be with her forever. But I'm not and that's okay. I'm okay with that. But I don't know if I wanna do that again."

"It's been over a year since you and Kelly broke up," Face reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. Lesson learned, loud and clear."

Face didn't press. It was times like this that Murdock was an open book. And there was something very comfortable about that, even if Face didn't care to read.

"Going on a first date _after _you've already had sex makes it kind of weird, you know? You ever done that before? 'Cause I'm not even sure how formal to make it."

Face shrugged. "If you're going to go out with her, just go have a good time. It's not like you've got anything to lose."

"Yeah. A casual relationship. I like that. Friends with benefits."

Face laughed. Murdock in a casual relationship. Now _that _would be something to see.

"What's so funny?"

"Do you even know what friends with benefits looks like?"

"Course I do. I've seen you do lots of them."

"Yeah, you've seen me, but you've never had a friend with benefits. You fall in _love _with them."

Murdock frowned, but he didn't come up with an answer before Face continued.

"Besides, is that even something you want? Because once you set that down for the ground rules, you're setting an expiration date on the friendship."

"What do you mean?"

"Sooner or later, one or the other falls in love. Then it's over."

Murdock's frown deepened, and he shook his head. "I don't know," he finally concluded. "She's different from the other girls. And I like her, I really do. But I really didn't mean to sleep with her. Right now she's a friend who happens to have a great set of legs and really likes sex."

Face laughed. "All good qualities to have in a friend of the opposite sex. At least when you're single."

Murdock beamed.

Smiling, Face raised his glass. "I'd propose a toast to friends, but that would require you to have a drink. And I simply can't stand the thought of toasting cherry Kool-aid."

Murdock smirked. "Nah. The strawberry is much better suited for toasting."

*X*X*X*

"Surveillance on Captain Murdock's apartment has noted some unusual activity in the area."

Carla's report, clear and precise, greeted General Stockwell as soon as he stepped into the plane. "What sort of activity?" he asked.

"This man." She withdrew a photo from the file in her hand and offered it to him. "William Dorries, also known by a number of aliases. He's of somewhat notorious reputation for contract hits, but not usually around here. He's wanted for murder in Texas, Arizona, and Utah. He's set up what looks to be his own surveillance from the parking lot across the street."

Stockwell studied the photo for a moment, then handed it back to her. "I doubt he's there to cause any trouble for Captain Murdock."

She smiled back. "Indeed, I'm sure he's not."

"Alert Abel 14 that he is to move into stage two and that I want him working full time on Project Unification. I expect a daily debriefing on the plan's progress. And before this evening, make sure that the surveillance team on the apartment has been made aware of this situation."

"Do you want them fully briefed on the operation? Or only on Dorries?"

"For now, only on Dorries. It's not necessary to involve them in any greater capacity at this point. Besides, as the information is circled around to the Abels it will undoubtedly get back to Smith."

"Yes, Sir."


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

The restaurant was nice, but not over the top. Quiet music and decent food. Dress casual and comfortable atmosphere. Wearing a knee-length black dress that hugged her curves, Beverly sat quietly, smiling and flirting and eating and - more than all of the other three put together - watching him with that seductive smile that let him know his time here was well spent.

She was different from the other women he had been with, but still familiar in a way he couldn't define. There was none of the awkwardness that seemed to crop up when he was getting to know someone. No urge to fill the silences, no need to impress her, or filter out some of the things he said and did. The things that so many people found crazy.

It made this all the more enjoyable, fun. He had no idea where it was going or if, in fact, it was going anywhere. There was no way to tell, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. All he knew is that what had happened last night had been well beyond anything he had ever imagined. And maybe they could find a way to see how much more fun they could have together.

He smiled at her as he took another sip from his glass. "So are you up for a little bit of fun?"

She tipped her head, eyeing him with a mock skepticism and a smile. "I am _always _up for a little bit of fun." She ran her foot all the way down to his ankle, then pulled it away. "What did you have in mind, flyboy?"

He was so distracted by her, and her touch, that he almost missed the "flyboy." He blinked in surprise as he registered it. Had she been military? Maybe someone in her family? Maybe her father; she'd mentioned his support of GI Joe. But even so, why call him that? He hadn't been called that in years. Besides, had he even told her _he_ was military? He'd said pilot. He'd never said anything more than that.

"It's a surprise," he finally said, never taking his eyes from her as he reached for his wallet.

In spite of the fact that he was in uncharted territory with her, this had still been one of the best dates of his life so far. It wasn't the cloud nine, walking on air feeling he'd feel if he was falling for her. He knew what that felt like. He wasn't enamored. He was just... comfortable. Dinner between friends. He couldn't have asked for anything more.

There was something about her that was familiar. He couldn't describe why he felt it. He didn't know what it was she had that drew him to her that way. But there was something. Something so real it was almost tangible. Every time he thought he'd succeeded in putting it out of his mind, she'd do something to bring it right back - a smile, a gesture, a word. It was natural and instinctive. He could relax with her, say what was on his mind.

He dropped the money on the table as he stood. Her eyes lingered on it as she stood, as if she was checking to make sure the tip was satisfactory, then she smiled as she wrapped her arms around his.

"Are you going to blindfold me?" she teased as they walked through the restaurant and out the door with a polite smile and nod to the maitre D. "Or shall we save that for later?"

He laughed softly as she leaned into him long enough to place a light, closed kiss on his jaw. "Later."

She smiled, following him to the car. "I've got all different colors. Care to take a guess at which one will match what I'm wearing under this dress?"

He wasn't sure what was more enticing - what she'd just said, how she'd said it, or feeling her warm breath so close to his ear. They stopped beside the car and she let him open it for her.

"I would love to," he whispered back. "But thinking about what you have on underneath that is far too distracting to be safe while I'm driving."

She laughed as she tucked her legs into the car, and he leaned over her to fasten her seatbelt for her. She was smiling at him knowingly as he turned his head and caught her gaze briefly. Without thought, he blurted out, "Is it red?" and immediately reconsidered. "No, wait. Never mind."

She laughed as he pulled away, shut the door, and quickly moved around the car to the driver's seat.

Still new to the area and not sure where they were headed, she watched the road, the signs, the surroundings. She didn't seem suspicious, or anxious. Just observant. They only had a few minutes to drive before he pulled to a stop and she looked around in the dark, confused. "Where are we?"

"My friend showed me this place." He was grinning broadly. She was going to love it here. "It's just over the dunes."

"Sand dunes?" She squinted into the darkness.

"Do you want me to tell you or do you want to see for yourself?"

She raised a brow at him, curiously. "I'm going to have to take off my high-heeled, difficult-to-walk-in-sand shoes for this, aren't I?"

He grinned. "Yeah, probably."

She gave an exaggerated mock sigh as she kicked them off. "Oh, well. Might as well take the stockings off too. Wouldn't want them to run."

She didn't look at him as she reached up under her dress, drawing it up her thigh until he could _almost _see what color that blindfold would have to be. He smiled involuntarily. She was sexy in cutoffs and she was sexy as hell rolling her thigh high stockings down her long legs. Hell, she would be sexy in a burlap sack. There was something about the confidence that just screamed for his attention in all the right ways.

He was out of the car by the time she was finished, trotting to her side and pulling the door open while extending his hand. She leaned into him as they walked, offering a contented sigh.

"Thank you, by the way. Dinner was nice." She squeezed his hand for emphasis.

"Anytime. Maybe next time we could try for great, or dare we dream, fantastic?"

She chuckled. "We're still working up to great. But it's not out of reach for tonight."

"Anything I can do to bring us a bit closer to that goal?"

She smiled, but didn't speak.

"Welcome to Ft. Monroe beach, Bev." Murdock glanced at her. "How do you like it?"

The small boardwalk that had lead them past the dunes with the forlorn looking scrub brush in no way hinted at the breathtaking beach on the other side. Several hundred yards of pristine sand stretched to the ocean below. The coastlines seamed to go forever, before disappearing around sharp curves on either side. A stone jetty and a wood pier far in the distance were the only signs that humans had ever been here. There were no houses, cars, people - so unlike the beaches back home. And yet, comforting. Peaceful.

Every few seconds the beach would be illuminated by the faint glow of the light house on the other side of the small island. Far off in the water, red and green lights signaled the distant passing ships. If it was daylight, they would've been able to see the dolphins playing off the ships' bows.

She smiled, and turned into him with her face toward the ocean, resting her head on his chest. "It's beautiful."

He slid his arms around her loosely with a smile on his face. The sand, still warm from the day's hot sun. The sound of the waves hissing on the shore. The sky, full of a million stars and the moon so bright it was almost blinding. It reflected off the surface of the water, shimmering on the waves, and cast a silvery glow over everything. It was all perfect. The fact that he didn't have to be alone to see it all made it that much better.

He held her tight for a few moments, trying to commit the moment to memory - the feel of a beautiful woman against him, the smell of her mixed with the ocean air, her warmth against the soft breeze. When he was satisfied he would never forget this perfect moment in time spoke in her ear, "Ever gone swimming in the moonlit ocean?"

"Can't say as I have," she whispered back. She smiled at him knowingly as she withdrew. "But I didn't bring a bathing suit."

Stepping back, he shrugged out of his jacket. "Who says you need one?"

She smiled as she watched him strip down to his boxers, then turned her back to him, lifting her hair so that he could get to the zipper on her back. The bra matched the panties - pink and black- as well as the black garter belt. She took the belt off - it was entirely unnecessary with her stockings in the car- and laid the dress out neatly on the sand, bending at the waist with her feet apart to straighten it. He could feel the blood start to pool in his groin.

He stepped up behind her and ran his hand lightly up her thigh, over her back and down her arm as she stood back up again and smiled over her shoulder at him. It wasn't a demanding touch, just a show of appreciation. She was gorgeous and he was lucky to see her.

He smirked as his eyes shifted to the water. "Race you."

She broke into a run instantly, kicking up sand behind her and splashing loudly into the cool ocean water with a shriek. He was right there with her. He didn't know who won and he didn't care. It wasn't far before she lost her footing and fell in headfirst. She pulled herself back up, laughing and splashing at him to make sure he was at least as wet as she was. Sputtering and shaking the water out of his eyes, he grabbed her around the waist and shouted, "Hold your breath."

He dove with her under the next wave. When he broke the surface he stood up with her in chest deep water. She looked beautiful - a sopping wet mess with her makeup running all over her face. He moved one hand to her head as he kissed her, slowly and deeply. He broke the kiss before he lost himself.

Noticing the goosebumps, he cocked and eyebrow and once again challenged her, "Race you back."

She laughed loudly, and nearly fell again in her attempt to head back to the shore. She was significantly slower than he was coming back out, and as she came closer to the edge of the water, she dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled through the water - slow and sensual with a smile on her face. She moved up to the sand where the waves foamed as they came up around her, then leaned over him, straddling his waist, bringing her mouth to his in a slow, sensual kiss.

There was that blood pooling again.

He returned the kiss, letting it linger for several slow, satisfying minutes before she finally pulled away, just enough to look down at him. "Dinner was nice," she said quietly, her voice dripping with seduction.

"Glad you liked it."

"I liked it a lot." Bracing herself with one hand, the other slid down his body and underneath the band of his boxers. "I'll be more than happy to show you just how much..."

The water rushed in, then dragged back out, and his breath caught in his throat as she wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked firmly from base to tip. Suddenly, there was no thought in his mind except the warmth of her kiss and the movement of her hand as she coaxed him to fullness.

*X*X*X*

"Isn't it a little late in the evening for this, Stockwell?" Hannibal asked as he followed Face into the living room.

"Ordinarily, I would say yes," Stockwell answered. "But this is a matter of some importance."

"Aren't they all?" Face muttered.

"You will be leaving first thing in the morning."

"Ah." Face's smile was completely fake. "Gives us something to look forward to."

Hannibal had to hand it to Face, he got his hits in where he could.

"A rather delicate situation has surfaced in a remote jungle area of Venezuela."

Hannibal sat down on the white leather sofa. "Gee, could you be any more vague?"

"They will be much better equipped to tell you the details than I," Stockwell answered. "But I can tell you that this is not a particularly strenuous assignment."

"And that's why you chose not to pick up Murdock on your way here?" Hannibal guessed. The question was very pointed.

"Captain Murdock was not at home. I chose not to track him down when his presence at this briefing is not at all required."

"Since when?" Frankie challenged.

"I currently have a number of operatives working on a very delicate situation in Central America. They've run into some snares and requested further instruction, so I'm sending you, Colonel Smith, to assess the situation and advise them further. _Only _to advise. Not to assist."

That pointed look, and the carefully chosen words elicited the reaction Stockwell knew it would. "Woah, wait a minute," Face interrupted.

"If he's goin', I'm goin'." BA's response was instantaneous, almost over top of Face's, and left no room for argument.

"It's not a particularly dangerous assignment," Stockwell continued, ignoring both of them.

"Yeah, we've heard that before," Frankie reminded. "Right before you split us up and sent Hannibal off to China."

"Which our contracts _specifically _say you can't do," Face pointed out.

"Your contracts state that I cannot send your team to two separate missions at the same time," Stockwell clarified, "and they specify chain of command such that you will never be sent anywhere without Colonel Smith. They distinctly do _not _prohibit my sending him to advise in a situation where I need an opinion I can trust."

Hannibal almost laughed at that - the way he always did when Stockwell started tossing around words like "trust." That man trusted no one, and he certainly hadn't proven himself worthy of trust.

"If he's goin', I'm goin'," BA said again.

Stockwell stared at him for a moment, then at Hannibal, then back again. "You realize, of course, that you will have to fly to your destination."

BA swallowed hard. "I don't care. I'm goin'."

Hannibal smiled politely in spite of the fact that, at the moment, he felt anything but polite. Stockwell rarely split them up. The last time he had, it had been nearly disastrous. Not for Stockwell, of course. He wouldn't have given a damn if Hannibal had died in China. When the team had come to get him, his safety had seemed very low on Stockwell's priority list. If not for the fact that Hannibal really didn't want to stay here locked up in this prison anyways, he might have put up more of a fight against this whole thing.

There were no more details to give right now. At least, none which Stockwell cared to share. Hannibal would have the night to rest, and leave first thing in the morning. Other than BA's adamant declaration that he was coming along, nobody put up a real protest. Though it was clear from the look in Face's eyes that he expected Hannibal to. In Hannibal's mind, it wasn't worth arguing over. If they really wanted to go, Stockwell knew he couldn't keep them here. He was far more interested in getting Stockwell out of his living room.

"You could tell him to go to hell, you know," Face said dryly, following a half step behind as Hannibal headed down the hall in the general direction of his room.

"I could," Hannibal agreed. "But given that the alternative is to stay locked up here under his watchful eye, I think I'd rather go advise in Venezuela."

"You're assuming that he's actually being forthcoming about what's really going on down there. Even with what little information he gave us, that's not necessarily the case."

Hannibal smiled as he glanced at Face. "What about you, Lieutenant? Care to go advise? If the situation's not too bad, it could be a nice little vacation."

"And if it is? There's no way of telling what kind of sick and twisted -"

"Even if it is," Hannibal interrupted, "it will still be better than sitting here in this cage."

Face studied him for a long time. "Are you kidding?"  
Hannibal raised a brow, waiting for him to voice his thoughts.

"You seem awful ready to agree to what could be a trap. Are you suicidal?"

Hannibal didn't flinch. "Do you really think that it's worth refusing the mission?"

That logic silenced Face. Finally, after a long moment, Face sighed. "He can't force you to go alone."

"I'm not going alone. Didn't you hear?" Hannibal smiled as he put a hand on Face's shoulder. "BA is coming with me."


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Why are you doing this?"

Hannibal wasn't alarmed by the intrusion, and he didn't pretend to be. He didn't bother looking at her, or pausing on his way to the bathroom that joined his room to Face's. "Why not?"

"One word. China."

He smiled as he turned on the shower, leaving the door open. "That was different."

"No, it wasn't!"

"Besides, it all turned out just fine in the end."

She moved to the doorway as he stepped into the shower, so that she didn't have to yell to be heard. Arms crossed over her chest, she glared at the shower curtain as if she could burn holes through it if she just tried hard enough.

"Did you ever ask yourself why he didn't send the one person on your team who speaks and reads Chinese with you on that little mission?"

"That little mission was a long time ago."

"Not _that _long."

"And besides, if it makes you feel any better, BA speaks Spanish and he's going with me on the mission to the Spanish-speaking country. So you see? Nothing to worry about."

She didn't need a glare to get through that thick skull of his. She needed a pick axe. "Nothing for _you _to worry about," she corrected. "Because you're a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch with an overinflated ego."

"Aw, Suzy, I'm flattered."

"However, if you are a reasonable, rational human, then worrying is an appropriate reaction."

"I never claimed to be reasonable or rational.

"Or sane."

"There's a large number of people who would agree with you on that point, as well."

She uncrossed her arms and straightened her posture, hands on her hips. "I swear to God, Smith. If I have to nurse your rosy pink ass back to health because you have radiation poisoning or a missing limb or whatever the hell else Stockwell is hoping will happen, I will put another bullet in you."

The water shut off, and she heard him chuckle. "Well, hopefully you won't have to go through all that trouble."

"Hopefully?"

He pulled the curtain back, smiling at her as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Hand me that towel over there, will you?"

She complied, still glaring hard. "Honest to God, I could have this conversation with that potted plant over there, and it would make more sense than talking to you."

"And yet, for some reason, you still prefer talking to me."

"I must need my head examined. My god, I think I've caught crazy from you."

He smiled, and she stepped back to let him through the door as he tucked the towel around his waist. He paused just long enough to kiss her lips lightly, but she didn't return it. Her hands were still on her hips, glare still in full force.

"I never used to be like this," she shot at him. "I was calm, rational, reasonable. Then you show up and I start thinking that I must have really pissed God of at some point and giving a damn about your sorry ass is some sort of penance. Say four Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers and go deal with Smith."

He chuckled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Suzy."

"It's _not _a good thing, you... you -"

She stopped, catching herself just before she resorted to stomping her foot like a twelve year old girl. As he glanced back at her with an amused smile, she put her shoulders back and stepped up into his space. She knew he would laugh at her attempt at assertiveness. The fact that she knew it, and still had to try, annoyed her even more. "Look, smart ass. You watch yourself out there. Understand? Because whatever the _real _reason is that Stockwell is separating you from the herd, it's not going to be pleasant. And if _anyone _gets to make your life harder it should be _me_. Not him."

He didn't step back to put distance between them. In fact, he slipped his arms through hers, resting his hands together on the small of her back. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind," he said with a smile.

She answered him with a hard look, trying hard to keep her frustration with him hidden and knowing she was completely failing in her attempt. "God damn it. You already thought of all this didn't you?"

He smiled, then dropped his head forward to kiss her, long and slow. She didn't return it. As he pulled back slightly, he left his lips against hers, half teasing and half serious as he spoke again. "I have one night to relax before I go back out there. Since you're here already, why don't you stay?"

"Relax?" She laughed openly at that. "_You _relax? What did you have in mind? Alligator wrestling? Nitroglycerine juggling? Tap dancing in a field of land mines?"

He chuckled.

"Your idea of what's relaxing is just as crazy as the rest of you."

"All of that does sound like a lot of fun. But there are ways of tapping into that same adrenaline that are much better suited for this room."

She frowned, trying very hard to ignore how warm he was and how good he smelled. She was annoyed, and pissed off at that dismissive tone and she was _right _about this, damn it. But that deep vibrating chuckle and the way he was kissing her neck, warm and soft, made her lose her train of thought. Damn it, she was supposed to be angry. So how the hell did her hands end up on his hips? Traitors...

"I thought you wanted to relax," she challenged as very non-relaxing ideas began to slip uninvited into her head.

"The best relaxation follows the adrenaline let-down."

"Let down?" She laughed, a bit mockingly. "Let down better not play into this. The very least I expect before you waltz off into Stupidville is to be left too damn satisfied to complain."

How could any one person be so annoying and so god damned attractive at the same time? How could she want to scream at him and spread for him at the same time? It just didn't make any sense. Even more than that, it didn't make any sense that she really didn't even care anymore. Right now what really mattered had narrowed down to just this space they were in.

His hands were sliding up her back, tracing the band of her bra over the top of her shirt. "Satisfaction is just a given," he said confidently.

"That's what they all say."

"Do they all deliver?"

"Hardly." She ran her fingers along where the towel met his skin. He really did smell good... "Talk is cheap."

His lips on the side of her neck moved up toward her ear as he pulled her shirt free of her skirt and slipped his hands underneath it, caressing her skin lightly.

"Maybe we should stop talking," he whispered.

"Good idea. You're much more enjoyable when you're not talking."

He pulled back just enough to smile at her as he tightened his arms around her, then pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his in a slow, sensual kiss.

*X*X*X*

Lying on the wet sand, staring up at the stars in the vast expanse of the sky with a beautiful, mostly naked woman beside him and the calming aftereffects of orgasm still rippling through his body, there was no way in a million years Murdock could be any happier than he was right now.

"I love the beach," he sighed, closing his eyes to listen to the sound of the surf hitting the sand.

"Not much beach in West Texas."

He chuckled at that. "I grew up in Texas, but I lived in LA for fifteen years before I moved out here. I learned to love beaches when I lived there."

She sighed softly, and nuzzled against him, fingers lightly stroking his side. "I've never been to LA. I've heard it's pretty, though."

"Yeah, it's nice." His hand stayed still, resting on her shoulder, but his fingers were working in small circular patterns over her skin. "I never really cared for the city, but I loved the beaches and the wilderness."

"Wilderness?"

He glanced at her. "Veer off of one of the roads and in two minutes you're in the hills, smack in the middle of nowhere. Only place I've ever been where you can have someplace so remote located so close to a heavily populated area."

She smiled, but didn't answer.

He sighed softly, and stared up at the sky again for a long moment, lost in the stars. "I miss it," he finally admitted. "LA was more of a home to me than Texas ever was."

"Will you go back?"

He didn't answer immediately. That question brought a certain sense of sadness with it as he considered the answer. "Hopefully," he finally offered, lowering his eyes. What were the chances he'd ever return to LA? What were the chances that Stockwell would ever let the team go? He sighed as he put that thought out of his mind. This was neither the time nor place to think about Stockwell.

"So why here?" she pressed lightly. Her fingers stroked lightly along his collarbone. "Is it just a temporary assignment?"

"What?"

She laughed. "Come on, flyboy, it's not a trick question."

Gradually, his confusion turned to a smile. Clearly she thought she was a step ahead in this conversation. "What is it you think I'm doing here?"

"I _asked_ you what you do for a living, remember?" She shrugged in a very non-committal way. "Though I do sort of wonder why you live off base."

"I said pilot," he reminded her. "I didn't say I was in the military."

She rolled her eyes, but was still smiling. "The back of your jacket says Da Nang. Where did you get it? Cancun?"

He paused. "I was in during the war. I'm not now."

"Where were you stationed?"

He raised a brow. Why was she so interested in this? "Everywhere."

She laughed. "Well, that sounds like an intentionally evasive answer. And I won't pry." She kissed just below his ear, then settled her head on his shoulder again. "It's not important. I was just wondering."

He didn't answer. Instead, he let the silence stretch. They were alone on this beach, but sooner or later, someone was bound to come by. That meant sooner or later they were going to have to move. He'd deal with it later, when the sand in his hair and the saltwater on his skin started getting more irritating than her fingers on his chest felt good.

That would be much, much later...

"Hey, Bev?"

"Hmm?"

Fingers stroking through her hair, he opened up his eyes again and stared at the endless sky. "You ever been in love?"

She laughed quietly, sliding one leg over his and rubbing his calf with the arch of her foot. "That's kind of an odd question."

"Why is it odd?"

He felt her shrug. "I don't know. No one's ever asked me that before."

She was avoiding the question. She reminded him of Face, the way she did that. But he'd had more than enough opportunity to learn just how to get answers from an evasive target when he wanted them.

"So have you?" he asked again.

"No." She paused for a long moment. "Love is... overrated."

"How do you know that if you've never been in love?"

"Love makes people do stupid things," she said quietly. "Gives them blinders, so they can't see anything except what they want to. Makes them too easily controlled."

"And you've learned all this just from observing others?"

"You can learn a _lot _by observing others."

Another avoided question. This one, he let go. "True, but there something to be said for experience."

"Everything I want, I can get without love."

He chuckled again. "It's more than a means to an end, Bev. The experience itself is... thrilling."

"I'll take your word for it. It's an experience I don't care to have."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "It's like that song, 'When a Man Loves a Woman.' Every man says he'd never turn into that. But everyone knows they will. Hell, look at _Bambi._ Even Disney knows how easy it is to 'twitterpate' a man."

He laughed at that. "I'm detecting a little cynicism here."

"A little?" She smirked. "Actually, there's a lot. The whole concept disgusts me in general. No offense."

"None taken," he answered with amusement. "Though I have to wonder, is all the sex to get me tripped up? Or is there some other reason?"

"Why would I be trying to trip you up?"

"You tell me."

"There's nothing I care to exploit you for, if that's what you're asking."

He laughed. "Well thank goodness, I can rest much easier now."

She smiled, and left a soft kiss on his jaw as he rested her head on his shoulder again. He breathed in deep, drawing in the cool, salty air.

"You know, just some helpful advice. If you ever feel the need to exploit me, sex or love is not the way to do it."

"I don't feel the need to exploit anyone anymore," she answered quietly.

"Anymore?" he asked, curious.

She pulled back again, leaving a soft kiss on his chest, and propped her head up on her elbow. She was staring at him with an equal amount of curiosity, but she didn't answer his question. Instead, she smiled down at him.

"In any case, if that's true, you'll be the first man I've ever met who could say that and mean it."

He smiled back at her, and slid a hand into her hair. "Well, if you don't believe me when I say it now, you should definitely make a point of asking me again later tonight when we play truth or dare."


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

As he stepped out onto the small balcony of Murdock's apartment, Face had one eye on the two men sitting ever-so-noticeably in the car across the street in the adjoining parking lot. If he could've guaranteed they were actually looking at him, he probably would've waved. He didn't mind the "covert surveillance" as long as he was going somewhere he had no problem with them knowing about. That included Murdock's apartment.

Murdock gave him a sideways glance and a quick, "Good morning," before turning his attention back to the sky. He'd heard Face come in, and wasn't at all surprised to see him show up on the balcony with a cup of coffee. He was, however, surprised to see the bottle of wine Face set directly on the table in front of him.

"Know what this is?"

Murdock's surprise turned to confusion as he stared at the bottle for a moment. "Sure, Face. It's the wine I gave you last week."

"No, Murdock." Face straightened his jacket as he sat down across from Murdock at the small table. "This is a full bottle. Know where I got the full bottle?"

"Is this a test? 'Cause I haven't finished my coffee yet so I'm prob'ly gonna fail."

"The liquor store down around the corner ordered it for me. Express shipped from France. At a cost of sixteen hundred, ninety-three dollars... and twenty-three cents."

Murdock's eyebrows shot up. "Seventeen hundred dollars for a bottle of wine?"

"Given the cost of the bottle, the express international shipping seemed appropriately minor."

"Who in the hell pays that much for... for..." Murdock waved his hand at the bottle. "For grape juice that's gone bad in the right way!"

Face only smiled as he leaned back comfortably, drawing one foot up to his other knee.

"I mean besides you."

"Actually, I was wondering the same thing. This is your girlfriend who gave you this?"

"Bev, yeah. But I told you, she's not my girlfriend."

Face sipped his coffee. "How did your date go last night?"

The change in topic was a little more abrupt than Murdock's sleepy mind would've liked. He'd always liked mornings, but he hadn't actually made it home to his own bed until after three.

"It went fine."

"Fine? Where'd you take her?"

"Dinner at Lolita's and Ft. Monroe beach."

"Good choice."

Murdock took another sip of precious coffee and nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, while you were out having fun, Stockwell was briefing us on another assignment."

Murdock blinked, confused. "Briefing? Why? What assignment?"

"He sent Hannibal down to Venezuela this morning."

Murdock's eyes widened. Then he took another slow sip of his coffee, processing that slowly. His eyes remained fixed on Face the whole time. After slowly lowering the cup, he shifted slightly, nervously, before he spoke. "Why'd he send Hannibal alone?"

"Why does he do anything he does?"

"I should say, why'd Hannibal _let _him?"

"Hannibal seemed fine with it. Supposedly he's just going down there to 'advise.' We should hear from him as soon as he gets a good look at what's going on down there."

"I thought you guys were going to get some down time." There was an edge to Murdock's tone as he turned away to stare up at the sky again/

"What good is down time when he's constantly breathing down our necks?" Face sighed as he sat back. "In a way, I think Hannibal was on the right track. Might as well take on a suicide mission... anything to get out of this prison for a couple of days."

Murdock sighed, leaning forward on the balcony railing. His lanky frame was tense as he continued to stare blankly upward. "It's not right, Face."

"Right? No. But it's not exactly a surprise either." Face paused for a sip of coffee. "In any case, I think I'll be dropping off the radar for a few hours, too. I need a break from him. I left the number where you can reach me on the kitchen counter."

Murdock chuckled, then drained the last dredges of coffee from his cup. "Dropping off the radar, huh? Well, say hi to Jess for me then."

Face smiled faintly. "I'll let her know."

"Is she on her way out here?"

"No. It's not safe to bring her out here when Stockwell's playing games. But I should at least give her a call. Haven't talked to her in a while."

"Oh, come on. You and I both know you could sneak her by Stockwell. Or are you losing your touch?"

Face sighed, not rising to the bait. "Not when Hannibal isn't here. If nothing else, he and BA gone means that Stockwell has twice as much manpower to devote to policing the rest of us."

A mischievous chuckle escaped from Murdock, his eyes twinkling. "Yep, you're losing your touch."

Face glared at him briefly before giving an indignant, "I am not."

Murdock chuckled.

"There are just some things I don't gamble with."

"Fair enough." Murdock's smile softened. "You could just use some time with her, is all."

Murdock raised a brow. "Oh, could I?"

Murdock spun on his heels, heading back inside to refill his mug. From over his shoulder, he answered, "I hate to break it to ya, but you're not as much fun after a streak of celibacy, Faceman."

Face's smirk was amused, light. "What is that supposed to mean?"

From inside the apartment, reaching for the coffee pot, Murdock laughed. "What do you think that means?"

Face finished his coffee. "You're one to talk."

"Hey now!" Murdock sauntered back to the balcony door, carefully balancing his cup of steaming coffee. "I just had a date. And plus...well... I'm not you."

Face sighed. "I'd love to bring her out here. But it's just not feasible right now." His eyes drifted back to the men who were watching him. "Not when Hannibal isn't here."

***X*X*X***

"James and I got Mom to go to the beach today. We practically had to drag her."

The disgusted tone made Face smile. Only a sixteen-year-old girl could pull that off with such finesse. Her voice was a welcome familiarity. He didn't find familiar things in Virginia, as a rule. It was beginning to wear on him. Enough to make him go through the trouble of a full-fledged escape and evade from Stockwell's lackeys, just to lock himself in a motel room with a phone that wasn't bugged and call back to the few people he kept in touch with.

"Why did you have to drag her? She likes the beach."

"Yeah, but seriously, she never does anything anymore. She works a lot and spends the rest of the time in her room."

"You ask her what she's doing?"

"No." Again, the tone spoke volumes. This time, it spoke the sheer absurdity of the idea that Heather would be the least bit interested in what her mother was doing with all her time. "Trust me, that is way more interesting to you than it is to me."

He chuckled.

"I think she just pulled up. Hang on a minute and I'll let her know you're on the phone."

"Alright, take care."

The phone clattered as Heather set it down, and Face put his head back, shutting his eyes. He really should call more often to check on them. Not that there was a hell of a lot he could do for them from three thousand miles away. And the distance was saying nothing of the wall of security that ran all the way around him. In some sense, he was glad for that wall, though. Really, it went both ways. It kept him from having contact with Jessica and her kids - who were grown enough now that sometimes he forgot they were kids - but it also kept them from having contact with Stockwell. And that, he was quite sure, could never end well.

"Hello?"

"Evening, Jess."

Her smile was audible. "Face. How are you?"

"Doing fine. I hear the kids dragged you to the beach."

She laughed softly. "Yeah. I'm all sunburned."

"That's what sunscreen is for, baby."

"Yes, but I didn't think it would be that bad."

Face shut his eyes with a smile on his lips as he considered the image of her spread out on the beach, basking in the sun. "Hmm... I wish I could've been there with you."

"Me too. Of course, if you had been here, we never would have made it to the beach."

"We would've made it. Just a bit later." He dropped his voice lower. "And more... alone."

"And much less dressed." Her laugh was cut off. "Ouch, damn it! My back is too burnt; I'm, going to have to sleep on my stomach."

"Good thing you enjoy being on top."

"Right now the only thing I'm on top of is a lumpy mattress. But being on top of some aloe would be nice."

"If I could, I'd be there in ten minutes. You know that."

"I know, Face."

There was the sound of a matching being struck and a deep inhale. "I take it since you haven't given me a flight number, I won't be coming to see you?" She was trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but Face knew it was there.

"I'm sorry."

"Well, my bag is packed and waiting. Hopefully by the time I get out there, my sunburn will be gone." Her voice dipped lower. "That will make rolling around in the sheets with you less of a challenge."

He chuckled quietly. "I can hear that blush in your voice, Jessie."

"Hopefully you'll be able to see that blush soon."

He could feel tension draining from his muscles at the sound of her laughter.

"I miss you, Face." The loneliness he was feeling was echoed in her soft voice.

"I miss you too. I love you."

*X*X*X*

"Empress 8 and 10 have arrived in San Lucino," Carla reported. "They have yet to call in for an initial report, but Abel 18 says there were no problems with the flight."

"Good."

"How long do you suppose they'll be down there?"

"I don't know. And frankly, I don't care. What's the status on Abel 14's last report?"

"Same as yesterday. No recent activity."

Stockwell frowned. What was taking so long? He should have made a move by now, if he was going to do so.

"If you want, we could certainly offer him some encouragement," Carla suggested, as if reading the concerned look on his face.

"No. Have the local police pick up Dorries. Then send Abel 14 to me. Tell him there's been a slight change of plans.

"Yes, Sir."


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

The sounds coming from the apartment next door had been mildly distracting at first. After about twenty minutes, they were downright curious. What was she doing over there? Finally, he had to investigate.

As he pushed the door open, he only got it a few inches before it was against the sofa. Not enough room to squeeze through. The apartment inside - at least what he could see of it - was a disaster area. He could hardly see the floor. None of the furniture she'd acquired from the Salvation Army was where it belonged. Instead, it was stacked in the center of the room, angled every which way.

There was no sign of Bev, but she had to be in there somewhere. The apartment didn't get like this on its own. "Olly olly oxenfree?" he called inside, followed by a loud, "Marco!"

His call was followed by a loud crash of pots and pans from the kitchen, followed by some cursing and a muted thump. As Bev rounded the corner and came into view, she was dressed in short shorts, a bra... and white powder. It was in her hair, on her face and shoulders, all the way down her front. She stared at him blankly for a long moment, as if she couldn't figure out what had just happened.

He couldn't help but laugh. She looked like a very attractive extra from a bad zombie movie. Smiling, he spoke with his head pushed against the door; it was all he could fit in, thanks to the couch. "Sneak attack by a rouge bag of flour, or where you trying to bake yourself into a cake?"

She eyed the sofa. "I um... wasn't expecting you. Hang on."

The fact the door was blocked made it pretty clear she wasn't expecting him. In fact, he was pretty sure that barricading the door with furniture was reserved for people who were being chased by ax wielding maniacs, zombie hoards, or who just had too much energy and not enough to divert their attention. Good thing he knew how to handle two of those three things.

It took a few minutes of clattering, shuffling, and clanging before she managed to pull the sofa back a few inches - just wide enough for him to slip through. Any further than that and she would've had to move the bookshelf. And she had no room to move it with the table in the way.

The smell of baked goods hit him as soon as he squeezed inside. Holding the back of the sofa with one hand he vaulted over it, bounced, stepped on the table and leapt off, landing with both feet planted and arms above his head, like a gymnast.

"And HM Murdock has stuck the landing! Looks like he will be bring home the gold for America!"

She gave him a funny look, then frowned as she tried to brush the white powder off, looking over his shoulder at the mess in the kitchen. There were cookies, cakes, cupcakes, broken eggs, oil, sugar (the flour was on the floor) bowls, mixers, pans and cookie sheets, foil, utensils... the kitchen was a different sort of mess than the living room, but just as much of one.

"I guess I have to clean this up." She looked over her shoulder at the living room. "At some point I have to put the rest of my apartment back in order, too."

"Leave it," he grinned. "Mid century barricaded mob scene is a very popular design aesthetic nowadays. Very hip, very now."

She sighed as she walked past him towards the kitchen.

"So tell me, Bev, what's got you so wound up that you decided to branch out into catering slash home demolition?"

"Bored? Restless." She took a step back and leaned on the wall. The mildly provocative pose may have been intentional or may have simply been a habit. "Distracted every two minutes by something else I should be doing? I seem to have the attention span of a gnat right now."

Even as she stood against the wall, she was fidgeting. He smiled. "I can think of a couple ways to burn off that excess energy."

"I need to turn the record over," she sighed, pushing off of the wall and heading past him, eyes locked on the phonograph clear on the other side of the room.

Her attention diverted, Murdock moved into position, slipping into kitchen and lining up his WMDs. Sugar, the remnants of the flour from the floor, baking soda... Putting all of it within reach, he leaned against the counter and waited for her to return.

She had to hop skip and jump all the way to the other side of the living room. The record player and the shelf it was sitting on was the one thing she hadn't moved. She flipped the record over - Boston - and looked around her at the mess in the living room.

"I should at least try and clear a path."

She started on that but it only lasted a few seconds before she realized she was getting flour everywhere.

"I need a shower. Might as well have a cigarette first."

She glanced over her shoulder at the balcony.

"Crap, and I should clean up the flour first."

It was almost as if she'd forgotten Murdock was even there as she crawled, climbed, and maneuvered her way back to the kitchen. Murdock smiled wickedly as he reached for the sink sprayer. "Did you say you needed a shower?"

She blinked at him. "Huh?"

In a very decent imitation of Clint Eastwood in one of his spaghetti westerns, Murdock drawled, "This here kitchen isn't big enough for the both of us."

He turned the water on, keeping his finger poised above the trigger, but not spraying yet. Instead, he nodded towards the lineup on the counter. "Chose your weapon and then say your prayers."

She stared at him blankly for a long moment. The realization that he was serious finally crossed her face, but she was still just staring at him. "You're seriously going to spray water all over my kitchen?" she asked, bewildered.

The answer was a, "Yup," a wicked grin, and a brief blast of cold water, mercifully aimed at her torso. "Dance for me varmint!"

She gasped, startled, and lunged for the hose as he sprayed her with another brief burst. But bare feet on the slippery, flour-covered tile floor slowed her considerably, and she found herself grabbing instinctively for anything off the counter she could potentially use to her advantage. The nearest thing she could get her hands on happened to be a carton of eggs. Half of them were already used. The other half she threw, carton and all in his direction, hoping for a distraction as she lunged for the sprayer.

With a bark of laughter, Murdock took the hit from the eggs. They would have been more effective if she had removed them from the carton. But after all, it was the thought that counted. Stepping back a little and jerking the sprayer away from her lunge, he switched to a Bugs Bunny voice. "Of course you realize this means war."

She gasped in shock at the cold water as he opened up with the cold water. He only had so far he could go before the hose was stretched, and she grabbed his arm. It didn't take her long to figure out that even with a hold on his arm, she couldn't get the sprayer. Had she been able to think, she might have shut the water off. Instead, she reached back, grabbed the half-full five pound bag of sugar, and turned it over on his head.

It knocked his cap off, spilling on to the floor, down his jacket and shirt, coating everything in its path with sand fine crystals. Murdock dropped the sprayer and was laughing loudly before he even had his eyes open. But when he did look at her, she was staring at him with wide eyes and a look of worry - almost fear.

"Beginner's luck!" he egged her on, his hand inching towards the powdered sugar.

She blinked a few times, realized he was laughing, and finally gave a tight smile. "Um... you're a mess." She looked away from him as she surveyed the damage. "This is going to take forever to clean up..."

"I have not yet begun to fight!"

She shrieked in surprise as he upended two pounds of powered sugar all over her. He was reaching for brown sugar. He wasn't done. She grabbed the hose, flipped on the water, and sprayed him blindly with ice cold water, shielding herself with her other arm in case the brown sugar came anyway.

_Atta girl..._

He took the spray full on, then faked low, gave a brief tickle to Bev's exposed ribs. As soon as she moved to guard, he added a pound of brown sugar to her, still trying to use his arm to block the water.

"Oh look, flour, sugar, water, you! All I need is milk, oil and eggs to make a Bev cake!"

Her eyes widened as she saw that he was going for the fridge. She dropped the hose and lunged for him, pressing him up against the fridge with her whole powdery, wet, sticky body against his. She was immediately grabbing for his wrists.

He didn't fight, letting her pin him. With a smile, he leaned his head forward and whispered in her ear, "I surrender." Then he licked long and slow from her collarbone up her neck, stopping with a kiss on her earlobe. "Yummy," he teased as he pulled back and looked at her confused expression. Had she _never _had a food fight? The poor, deprived girl...

He leaned his head back on the fridge. "Murdock, HM, Captain." He smirked. "I hope you treat your prisoners within the rules on the Geneva Convention."

She eyed him for a moment, clearly not sure what to make of him. Finally, she took a half step back and looked him up and down. "You're - _we're _- a mess. And that jacket is leather."

"Oh, trust me, this jacket's seen worse."

She looked behind her at the floor and frowned deeply. "My kitchen hasn't."

"Leave the kitchen for now."

She blinked as she stared at him. "It's going to be harder to clean it up the longer it sits. And broken eggs," she glanced at the floor, "can't just sit there for very long."

"Sure they can. Just leave it for an hour, so I can show you how this game ends."

"I'm going to feel even less like cleaning it up in an hour."

He chuckled, and reached for her hand, interlocking sticky, messy fingers with hers. "Come on," he said, guiding her toward the bathroom. She tried to skirt around the bulk of the mess so she wouldn't track it on the carpet and tiptoed quickly in the direction of the bathroom.

It was just a matter minutes before the tub was full of warm water and bubbles. It didn't take much to get her into the tub. It wasn't until after she had slid down into the relaxing water that he enlightened her with the rest of the rules of engagement in modern food warfare. Sitting on the side of the tub, he smiled at her. "To the victor goes the spoils. And as both instigator and loser of the engagement, I get to clean up the mess."

She stared at him blankly. Leaning forward he gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Enjoy, Bev."

Standing up and whistling, he strolled from the bathroom and set about cleaning the kitchen with a smile.

*X*X*X*

Murdock had never minded cleaning. As a kid, if he didn't clean something, it stayed dirty. The military was big on cleaning, he had learned the finer points back in his uniform-wearing days. He had also learned how to clean on auto pilot there too. He just set to the task and let his mind wander, finding ways to amuse itself. Currently, he was singing "Born in the USA" in a hodgepodge of Russian-English.

He had heard Bev get out of the tub after only about thirty minutes. Since then, she'd been standing in the hallway in her sheer black robe, watching and trying to figure out what to do as he cleaned her kitchen in his boxers. If he hadn't been able to figure it before, the look in her eyes when he threatened her with a water sprayer made it very clear that relaxing and playing were alien concepts to her. He wondered what she did for fun.

Smiling, he switched to singing "Back in the USSR" in Chinese. She was watching him like an exhibit at the zoo. If she was trying to figure him out she would need all the time she could get. Some of the finest doctors in the world had spent years trying to do just that with no success.

She stayed right where she was, not moving, hiding behind the wall in a way that could've been mistaken for "shy" if he didn't know better. She disappeared briefly, back into the bathroom, and was gone a few minutes before returning to the corner again. She watched, waited, and finally turned to look over the furniture that was still piled and pushed in every which way in the living room.

He knew what she was thinking. Smiling, he pulled the stopper on the sink and set the last pan on the counter to air dry. Drying his hands with a towel, he stepped out of the kitchen. "Ah, I see the victor has returned to survey her spoils."

She watched him for a long moment, curiously, blankly, then finally smiling, still hiding behind the wall. The "shy" act was new. There was something about how she was almost hiding and watching him that reminded him of some of the feral cats they had on his Grandparents' farm. They wanted to know, were curious, but always too cautious and unsure to come close. She wasn't any more shy than they were. She was watching to see what he would do.

"What? You've never had a semi-naked man clean your kitchen before?" he teased.

"No, can't say as I have."

"Well, it's a pleasure being your first."

Grinning, he turned towards the furniture. "Now for the heavy lifting."

She watched as he put things back. Then, finally, she stepped out of the hallway and skirted around the sofa until she was closer to him. She stopped right in front of him and set her warm hands lightly on his chest, ducking her head for a moment before she raised her eyes to him. Her lips touched his feather lightly, unsure. It was more of a question than a suggestion, eyes still locked on his, still filled with the same amount of curiosity.

He gave her a quick kiss, more reassuring than sexual, and put his hands over hers. "I gotta go wash the sugar off me before I get attack by a roving gang of sugar ants."

She smiled at that. "The roving gang of sugar ants is more likely to be outside than in here. You're welcome to use my shower."

"Hmm that's true about the sugar ants. Showering here would be safer. But then I'll smell like your shampoo." He grinned. "Promise not to make fun of me for smelling like honeysuckle?"

She chuckled quietly. "There's midnight pomegranate if you prefer."

"Oh, midnight pomegranate!" he cried in a falsetto voice as he headed for the shower. "I'm gonna have to beat the boys off with a stick!"

In the mirror on the wall, he finally saw her give a real smile.


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The bar in the little town of San Lucino had the best - and safest - access to a telephone anywhere within a fifty mile radius. Not that Stockwell hadn't been kind enough to provide them with communication of his own, but Hannibal would be damned if he used any phone provided by anyone who might be even remotely connected to Stockwell. Even when he was making a call directly to the compound.

He smiled at the bar owner as he walked inside and looked around. Mostly empty. He liked it that way. It was jobs like this that made him wish he'd made some effort, somewhere along the way, to learn Spanish. BA knew it, and had given him a few necessary phrases. But still, it would be better if he could comprehend what on earth was being said to him.

"_Tienes un telefono_?"

The answer was simple. The few bills he dropped on top of the bar probably helped to elicit the smiling, "_Si, si..._" along with a string of other words he didn't know.

Gestures and charades did the trick from that point on, and he followed around to the back corner of the bar top, where it wrapped against the wall. There, the man set a phone in front of him, and he smiled.

"_Gracias_."

The money should be more than enough to cover the international call he was about to make. The owner could figure that out later.

"Hello?"

Hannibal had just gotten his cigar lit when Face picked up. "Good morning, Lieutenant. How's the weather?"

"Unremarkable. Stockwell is dying to know why it's taking you so long to report in."

Hannibal smiled, pleased with that. "I'll bet he is."

"What's the situation like down there?"

"It's a bullshit assignment," Hannibal said. "He either knew that or his intelligence from his field operatives is as bad as the competence of his security forces."

"No revolution to stop?"

"Not much of one. It's a small resistance force upset about the antics of the new leader's son. Best I can tell, some bullying got out of hand and people got their feelings hurt. This is not the beginnings of World War III."

"So if it's that simple, why are you still there?"

"Because the food is great," Hannibal answered simply. "The accommodations aren't too bad, either."

Face chuckled. "So is this your way of seeing how long he'll let you enjoy your vacation?"

The grin that broke out across Hannibal's face was even wider. "It's fun to push his buttons every now and then. And in any case, whether or not he thought anything was going on down here, I got a feeling he was doing it just to see if I would fight back. It's written right into our contracts that he can't force us to split up. After China, I've been pretty careful about sticking to that. So he's pushing his boundaries, seeing what he can get away with."

"If that's the case, why did you let him get away with it?"

"Because the opportunity to beat him at his own game was fairly obvious." He paused before continuing reflectively. "In some ways, it's like handling a manipulative teenager..."

"By giving him exactly what he wants?"

"And turning it back on him," Hannibal said with a smile. "Besides, I trust that if there was any reason he wanted me removed from the compound, I would've heard about it by now."

***X*X*X***

Murdock could hear the raised voices through the wall that adjoined his apartment to Beverly's. She wasn't alone in there. Either that or she was really pissed off at somebody she was talking to on the phone. Come to think of it, that was really only her voice he was hearing. It could be the phone.

He glanced at the clock. Still early. Not even midnight. He wasn't going to work tomorrow. He was too tired. He was bored with the job anyways, and he hadn't even been there a week. Factory work was boring and repetitive. He needed another place of employment. Really, he needed Hannibal to come back. That way they could _all _go out and have some fun. But until then, someplace interesting. Someplace where he could work with... cockatiels. He wanted to teach one to whistle Andy Griffith. There had been no birds at the pound, when he'd worked there. Maybe a pet store...

He realized he was dozing when the knock at the door woke him up with a start. Immediately, he looked at the clock to reorient himself. Almost eleven. Rubbing his forehead, he stood and grabbed his gun before checking the peephole. He had a good idea who was standing outside, but he no idea what she could possibly want at this time of night. Standing in the hall with her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself slightly, she didn't look confrontational or upset, and certainly not threatening. After only a brief debate, he tucked the gun away in the coat closet and opened the door for her. If previous visits meant anything for predicting this one, his night was about to get much better.

"Hey," she greeted with a tight smile. "Mind some company?"

"Nah, I don't mind. Come on in." He stepped to the side and she let her arms dropped as she passed him. "I like company; especially the pretty kind."

She hesitated in the entryway and glanced back at him. "I wasn't sure if you'd be awake. I didn't wake you, did I?"

He grinned. "Nah, I usually don't sleep in my clothes."

The fact that he'd answered so quickly should've given her a clue, too. She was probably just being courteous. He'd return the favor and not mention that he had heard the yelling. Besides, she lived here too; she had to know the walls were far from sound proof.

"Have a seat Bev." He closed and locked the door behind her. "Don't mind the mess. The housekeeper died of embarrassment."

She chuckled dryly. "You saw my place. Don't worry about it."

Water. That headache was growing. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Do you have tea? If not, water's fine."

"Let me go check with the chef."

Turning and heading for the kitchen, he tried to remember what he had on hand. Coffee he always kept around for necessity and Dr. Pepper just because he liked it. Tea? He usually tried to keep tea around for when Face was feeling extra civilized and cultured. He wasn't sure if he had any right now.

Aspirin first. And a glass of water, before the headache really took hold.

It took him a minute to locate the tea bags and heat some water in one of the three mismatched mugs he owned. This one read, "Come to the dark side. We have cookies." Pulling open the refrigerator door, he called out to her, "Do you want sugar, or..." His voice trailed off as he looked at the contents of the fridge. Still just Dr. Pepper, Hawaiian punch, a bottle of ketchup and six butterscotch pudding snacks. There was no milk and most definitely no lemon. "Or, uh, sugar with this?"

"Nothing in it. Thanks."

Her voice was soft, polite and devoid of emotion. It was a stark contrast to what he saw when he walked back into the living room with the mug of hot water and tea bag. She was seated the end of the sofa, holding her head in one hand with her eyes closed, looking disheartened and resigned. Maybe that argument had had an effect after all.

"Here you go."

Sliding the latest issue of "Popular Mechanics" off the top of the stack of magazines and comic books on his battered coffee table, he set the mug and tea bag on it. Then he walked to the other side of her and sat at the far end of the small sofa, allowing her some room.

"So you wanna talk about what has you seeking the company of a refined gentleman like myself at this hour of the night, or are you just looking for some free tea?"

It was a few seconds before she offered a quiet, "I had a rough night."

That headache needed to go away now.

He didn't answer her. If she wanted to talk, she would. If not, he wasn't about to press. From the sound of it, she'd had a hell of an evening, he knew what those were like. He watched her toy with the tea bag for a few moments, pulling on it and letting it fall a few times before she finally let it rest in the cup and sat back.

"I just didn't want to be alone right now," she said quietly, pausing for a sip of her tea. She glanced over at him and offered a slight smile. Clearly, there was effort there, but not enough to make it worth comment. "I don't mean to intrude."

"If you were intruding, I wouldn't have let you in."

The understanding smile he gave her in return was real. She was a little like Face when Murdock asked something too personal. Come to think of it, she seemed to be just as uncomfortable talking about herself as Face was; at least _really_ talking about himself, not his personas. Maybe that was the reason she felt so easy to be around, so familiar?

He shook that thought off. Hard to think that somebody _that _pretty was sitting in front of him and he was sitting here comparing her to Face, of all people. He had to laugh at that.

_Headache, headache, go away; come again another day. _He paused, mid-rhyme. _Or don't. I really wouldn't mind never hearing from you again..._

He leaned back into the sofa a bit, getting as comfortable as the worn out springs would allow. He gave her a few minutes to enjoy her tea in silence while he let his mind wander a bit. The silence wasn't awkward, and that felt a little strange. Usually he was rushing to fill the quiet. Quiet made him think too much and made other people think things, too. But for some reason, he didn't didn't mind it right now.

Leaning over the arm of the couch he grabbed the small bag of "Healthy Handful's Hamster and Gerbil Food." With care, he measured out a small amount of food and opened the top of the cage sitting on the coffee table. _I really should get a side table or a stand for the poor guy. His view must be awful._

Rodger woke up with a start and unburied himself from under the cedar shavings in time to check out Murdock's hand before the food. Bev was watching him, but she didn't comment, just sipped her tea silently. Finally, she sighed deeply and took the mug with her as she moved a little closer to Murdock.

He brushed his hands clean and closed the lid tight on Rodger's cage. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the "Amber incident." How one woman could scream so loud about a tiny rodent running over her foot was a mystery to him.

"Sorry I'm not good conversation right now," Bev sighed, holding the mug close to her chest as she leaned on him. "It's been a hell of a day."

He put his arm around her shoulder, rubbing his hand on her upper arm. He could feel the tension in her back. "You don't have to keep apologizing, Bev."

"I know; you said that. I just still feel like I'm intruding."

"I told you. If you were -"

"I know."

He glanced at her curiously and saw her smile faintly. Dropping her head down a bit, she nuzzled into his neck, placing a soft kiss on the pressure point just below his jaw. "Thanks," she whispered.

He wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. But "thanks" was better than "sorry." Moving his hand up to her neck, he messaged the tense muscle.

"Just relax, Bev. You don't need to entertain me. Or talk if you don't wanna."

She hesitated a moment, then turned to glance at him. "I wouldn't mind some entertainment. But I don't want to talk." She smiled slightly, but this time it was genuine.

Oh, look. The headache was gone.

Murdock gave her a wicked grin. "I could juggle for you," he suggested. "Or show you some of Rodger's tricks."

"Hmm..."

His smile grew as he watched her. He already knew with how she liked to entertain herself. He kept working his hand across her neck and shoulders, and moved until his lips where a hair's breadth from her ear. "And then I could strip you naked, spread you out on my bed and make you scream my name in mind-numbing pleasure."

Smirking, she finished the last of her tea before she leaned forward and set the empty mug on the coffee table. "Does it have to be in that order?" Her eyes were flickering when she looked back at him.

"That depends on what you want me to juggle. I may need stretch out first."


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Murdock was still asleep when Beverly slipped out of his bed and into the shower. He was still asleep when she emerged, twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel. He was asleep until she straddled him, covered his mouth with hers, and slowly coaxed him awake, her body calling to his until he finally responded... and gave her what she wanted.

"You're all full of energy this morning." He yawned, stretching for the first time as she fell onto the bed beside him, still wrapped up in the towel.

"I like sex in the morning," she answered simply. "It's a good way to start the day."

"Mmm... I won't argue that."

He was still finding his way out of bed by the time she'd made coffee, and brought it back. "You feeling okay?" she asked. "Or are you not a morning person?"

He laughed, and took the coffee from her, gratefully. "I had a late night, remember?"

Again. He wasn't complaining.

She didn't bother getting dressed. Not yet. She joined him in the shower to clean up, engage in another brief intercourse, and clean up again. And she probably would have just stayed wrapped in the towel until she had to leave the apartment if not for the fact that he confiscated it to dry off.

"That's what it's made for, darlin'." He grinned at her. "Guess you'll just have to go au natural."

Replacing only her black, bikini-cut panties, she whisked the flat sheet off the bed. "I could just wrap myself up in this. Toga style."

She smirked at him as she modeled the fashion, and he laughed. As soon as he came closer, he had her backed up against the wall. "Now, that's way too much like clothes."

Commence lovemaking session number three.

He was in the kitchen pouring more coffee when the knock at the door came. She was closer. "I'll get it."

A quick glance over her shoulder, and she saw him nearly pour coffee right onto his hand. "Like _that_?"

Still dressed in only her black panties, she grabbed his jacket off the arm of the sofa and slid her arms into it, pulling it closed over her naked chest as she turned and winked at him. This time, he did pour coffee on his hand.

"Ah! Damn it!"

It didn't take her as long to assess the man at the door as it took him to stare at her. Blonde, nice to look at, black jacket, tight jeans. She raised a brow as she leaned on the open door, letting it hold the jacket closed for her. "Can I help you?"

*X*X*X*

Blonde, tall, pretty, Murdock's jacket, impossibly long legs. Face almost choked on his greeting. Not at all what he'd been expecting to see.

"Hi." He slipped his hands into his pockets, smile naturally in place. "Templeton Peck. You must be Murdock's infamous neighbor."

"Infamous?" She smiled. "I didn't know I'd made _that _much of an impression."

"Well, your taste in wine made quite the impression on me. You've left a very different sort of impression on Murdock."

Her smile broadened as she struck a pose against the door. "1947 Cheval Blanc. You liked it, then?"

"Very much."

"The 46 is very similar. I've heard the 21 is, as well, though it's a bit expensive for my taste. I don't find it to be worth the extra cost."

Face raised a brow. There went any thoughts of her not knowing the monetary value of the reverse housewarming gift. "I wouldn't think that cost holds too much weight for you. Do you _generally _keep seventeen hundred dollar bottles of wine on hand as party favors?"

Murdock finally appeared behind her. "Hey, Face. What's up?"

She smiled, and backed away, ducking under Murdock's arm without answering and disappearing back into the apartment. Face gave him an amused smile. "Am I interrupting?"

From behind Murdock, Face heard her call out, "You can let him in, you know." Murdock glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'll even put some pants on if it'll make you feel better."

Murdock was smiling as he looked back at Face. "We were just going to go get breakfast," Murdock announced. "Care to join us?"

"Actually, I'm on my way back to the compound," Face said. "But Frankie and I are going to grab a couple of girls and go do dinner and drinks tonight. Are you interested?"

Murdock shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"Do you work today?"  
"Nah, I think I'm done with the xylophone factory." He beamed. "Time to find a new job."

"Seven o'clock?"

"Sure thing. Just give me a call."

Face smiled once again at Bev as she appeared beside Murdock again, this time with clothing. "Pleasure meeting you," he nodded towards her as he backed away from the door.

She smiled back. "You too."

No wonder Murdock liked her. He was going to have his hands full with that one.

*X*X*X*

She needed to grab her purse from her apartment, but she waited for Murdock to finish his coffee before she headed over. Locking the door behind him, he followed a few steps behind her towards the apartment at the back. He wasn't prepared for her sudden stop, or the quick step backwards that had her running smack into him. It was only quick reaction time that kept him from falling over. What was wrong?

Before he even had a chance to ask, he saw what she was staring at. The door to her apartment was open about an inch.

"I didn't leave my door unlocked."

The cracked frame in the doorway had already warned him of that. Anything else he was thinking or feeling disappeared as the soldier in him took over. There was no thought as he stepped in front of her, hand drifting towards his back for a gun that wasn't there. Shit. No reason to pack it with him when he didn't want to have to explain it to Bev.

He did a quick scan of the area outside, looking for anything out of place, or anyone. Nothing obvious. First thing he needed to do was get her somewhere safe, somewhere more easily defensible. Then he needed to grab his gun, and to check if Face might still be in the parking lot for backup. But before he had any thoughts on how to actually proceed with step one, she'd moved around him, pushed the door wide open and stepped into her apartment.

Murdock was so stunned by her complete disregard for safety and common sense he wasn't able to react in time to stop her.

"Bev!"

She stepped a few feet into her silent apartment and stopped. In one long stride he was there next to her, making a quick inventory of the room. The place was trashed. Everything had been cleared from her desk and it had been overturned. The contents of her shelves lay scattered across the floor and the pictures were off of the walls, the frames shattered on the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, as his mind yelled, "_Danger! Danger!_"

He didn't bother to question that instinct, instead he grabbed her arm as she moved towards the open bedroom door. Just as he was preparing to throw her over his shoulder, he saw what had her attention. The blankets had all been pulled off the bed, and in the center of the mattress was a pool of blood and a rat nailed through with what looked to be one of her steak knives.

Faster than he could follow, his senses took in the information. A loud fight. Not wanting to stay at her place. A ransacked room with a rat placed to draw her into the much smaller much, harder to escape, more dangerous bedroom. Instinct had him moving back, pulling her with him, before he saw the movement in the dresser mirror. An opening closet door. Too late to get out unnoticed. He had only a second to react as the familiar rattle of an M-16 sprayed the room with bullets, shattering anything breakable and embedding within everything that wasn't. Murdock was on the ground without even knowing how he'd gotten there, rolling with Bev, trying to make it through the open apartment door, or at least behind the meager safety of the kitchen wall.

The stream of bullets stopped just briefly. The shooter was tangled up, trying to get out of the closet, tripping on something. No way to know what on and Murdock couldn't care less. He was up, grabbing Bev, and scrambling to the door. She found her footing and was off like a shot. She didn't need anyone to tell her to run. Down the outside hallway, down the stairs to the courtyard, around the side of the building and towards the parking lot. She didn't look back.  
Damn, she was fast. Thank God he was faster. That attack had made too much noise. Someone smart enough to stage that scene was smart enough to have a getaway plan. One that would most likely include armed men and an idling car in the parking lot Bev was running straight towards.

Putting years of training and surviving warzones to use, he grabbed her by the shoulders and rolled with her to the left - straight through the overgrown hedges that lined the outside of the building. He turned his back to the branches to let his leather jacket take the scratches rather than either of them and put his hand over her mouth as he flattened himself of top of her.

"They need a getaway car, Bev."

He made sure she couldn't get up, but he wasn't crushing her either. Keeping his hand over her mouth he let the words sink in. He hoped like hell there was some portion of her brain not running on pure adrenaline. Some portion that could understand the logic of what he was saying. If she ran, she'd get them both killed.

He could feel her breathing hard. It wasn't clear if she heard a word he said, but she didn't struggle. She lay still, and turned her face into her arm to quiet her gasps for air. Through the bushes, Murdock could see the man stumbling out of the apartment at top speed. The parked car on the opposite side of the parking lot was immediately in motion. It swung by, picked him up, and the tires screamed as it sped off, leaving the smell of burning rubber behind. Murdock stayed still, waiting a few seconds to make sure there was no one else in with this crew. He didn't think there was, but he wasn't willing to take the risk.

They needed to get out of there, quick. There was no way in hell he wanted to have to explain this to Stockwell. Hell, at this point he couldn't tell him anything because he didn't know what was going on. But more importantly than any of that, they were too exposed and vulnerable here. He needed his gun. Then he needed to put as much distance between her place and them as possible.

Moving with Bev would require her cooperation. Slowly he sat up, pulling her with him. He wasn't sure at this point just what she would do, and he was braced for anything. He removed his hand slowly from her mouth. There was no screaming, no struggle. She was shaking and still breathing hard, but she made no effort to move away from him. Instead, she took a few deliberate, deep breaths and let them out as slowly as she could. It was only a moment before she spoke in a small, ragged voice.

"I. Need. A telephone."

***X*X*X***

Carla strode into the room with a steady, sure pace, but a concerned expression on her face nonetheless. "General, I've just received word from Abel 6 that there have been shots fired near Captain Murdock's apartment."

Stockwell glanced up from the open file on his desk, then back down to the papers in front of him. "Any report on Captain Murdock's status?" He asked as he applied his signature to the bottom of the page.

"He is missing from his apartment. Abel 6 reports that he did not leave with the shooter. He suspects that in the commotion, he ran out through the back staircase."

Slowly and with care, Stockwell closed the file in front of him, moving it to the side of his desk. A neat desk was the sign of an ordered mind. Leaning back into his chair, he gave Carla a look that was somehow both calculating and satisfied.

"Since we have no pertinent information as of yet, and there is no reason to believe the captain is not just fine, wherever he is, this incident will remain undisclosed for now."

"The news media has already begun to arrive. It may be difficult to _keep _this matter undisclosed."

"Mr. Santana has been preoccupied with his new Nintendo for the better part of the last three days. I doubt he will relinquish it to watch the morning news."

"True. But I don't expect it will take very long for Murdock to call."

"Where is Lieutenant Peck?"

Carla checked the clipboard in her hand. "He's just arrived back home. He'd gone to Murdock's apartment this morning."

"What for?"

"Well, whatever they discussed, it was brief. He never went inside. Likely because Beverly Richards was in the apartment with Murdock."

Stockwell leaned toward the intercom, and with the press of a button had his surveillance team on the line. "What is the status of Empress 9?"

"He's just gone into his room, General."

Stockwell smiled as he leaned back. "Excellent. There is no television in his room, and therefore no risk."

"The phones still do pose a problem. If he calls, would you like us to intercept it?"

Stockwell considered it briefly, but shook his head in conclusion. "No, the call may proceed. There is no sense in prolonging the inevitable. But I do wish to be informed the moment that call comes through."

Carla nodded. "Yes, General."

"Determine the status of Captain Murdock. I want to know for certain that he's not injured before I relay that information to his two very unhappy friends."

Carla smiled. "It could be worse. There could be four of them."

"Yes, I'm well aware."

He waved her away with a quick hand gesture. Without another word, she was gone. It was only after she left that Stockwell allowed a smile to cross his lips.


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

Bev's shakiness was gone by the time Murdock had retrieved his gun and gotten into the car with her. It was a damn impressive recovery time. His mind was reeling over what had just happened, and he was still trying to reconcile the image of the woman in his passenger seat with the smiling, carefree and only-skin-deep Beverly he'd been getting to know. He'd seen women caught in dangerous situations before and they never took it quite this calmly. This was not as terrifying for her as it should have been. It was almost as if she'd been expecting it, somehow.

They pulled away just as the police cruisers were pulling in. She kept her head down. That was probably a good thing for more reasons than one. Whoever had made that run at her was more sophisticated than the average street punk. Not many people had the money or the resources to get their hands on an M-16. And the rat was a clear message. Someone thought she was a rat and needed to be taken out. That left a couple possibilities. All of them were high-risk for her. And from the dead cold, nearly-calm silence, she knew the kind of trouble she was in.

In spite of that, she still was startled enough to run right into the first trap and almost into the second one. She was tough, but she had an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation. Or maybe his was just overdeveloped. Either way, she had almost gotten herself killed twice in two minutes, and that was just not something he was going to let slide. The last thing she needed was a lecture, but she definitely needed someone to watch her back.

As he eased the car into traffic, he spared her a glance and smiled. "Man, the welcoming committee as changed since Mrs. Downsville took over. I got a plant and a twenty percent off coupon to Bed and Bath Emporium. You got an attempted assassination. Hardly seems right."

Sunk down into the seat with her knees against the dash, she stared out the window, just over the edge of the door. "I need a phone," she said again, her voice dry and emotionless.

"Yes, so I hear. But I figure something a little further away from the current gathering of local law enforcement at your apartment is a better place for you to call your contact. They tend to prefer anonymous, non-traceable locations."

It was a guess, but a pretty well thought-out one. She was holed up in a crappy apartment, near enough to DC to have several federal agencies nearby, and someone with M-16s thought she was a rat. Most importantly, she'd just been shot at and what she wanted most was a phone. All the pieces were there.

As they pulled up to a pay phone, she was out of the car and into the booth before the engine even died down. He watched her quietly as she placed several calls, but she never got through. Who was she calling? When she finally slammed the phone down, it was hard enough that he could hear the rattle and ring. Leaning forward against the phone, she buried her face against her arm and didn't move.

Murdock watched silently. No answer? Really? What the hell? Was he wrong about her? No, a protection program was the only thing that made sense. But who in the hell was running the program? First, they almost get her killed by letting an armed man in her place, then no one is there to answer her call on the help line?

Glancing around to make sure no one was following or paying too much attention, Murdock pushed the feelings down. They were not going to help now. With new resolve, he approached the phone booth, from an angle where she could see him. She didn't need any more surprises. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the dirty pexiglass of the booth.

"Did they give you a safe house to go to in case of emergency?"

She looked up at him, startled for just a moment by his presence or his question, he wasn't sure. "Safe house? No. What do you mean?"

"The guys who set you up in the apartment. Did they give you anything more than a number to call if things went bad?"

They should have. Of course, they should have been guarding her, too. She stared at him for a long moment, wary and clearly distrustful. Finally, she looked away, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"I need to get out of here," she said with low, enforced calm. She stepped out of the booth and straightened her posture, eyes on him and no hint of emotion on her face. "I need you to drive me to the airport. Will you do that?"

The calm facade was just that, but it was something he wasn't going to push for the moment. It would be pointless; he could see that. And frankly, the sooner they were of the street and moving, the happier he would be.

He gave her his best reassuring smile, which he doubted she would buy. "Sure, I'm just going to have to make a quick call first. Then it's express, nonstop service to the airport."

She nodded slowly and kept her posture impeccably straight as she walked to the car, closed the door behind her, and sunk down into the seat again. Keeping one eye on her, Murdock stepped into the booth. The phone rang only twice before Face answered. "Hello?"

"Hey Face, seen the news lately?"

Face hesitated a moment. "Lately as in the past ten minutes since I got home? No... Why?"

"My place is going to be on it. We had some excitement, but everything is fine. Figured I should check in before Stockwell starts to worry, you know what a big old squishy softy he is."

Murdock smiled at the thought of Stockwell reading that transcript. But Face apparently didn't see the humor. When he spoke again, his voice was full of concern. "What kind of excitement?"

"A shooting. Sheesh, the neighbors these days."

"Do we need to meet you somewhere?"

He knew Stockwell was listening. This wouldn't be a detailed conversation. But he had to ask. "Nah, don't go to any trouble on my account. I'm just a little worried about my wine. I think I'm going to go put it somewhere safe. Maybe then I'll give you a call and we can meet and celebrate."

Face paused again, and Murdock knew he understood. "Just be careful, huh? You can buy more wine when it's over. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

"Thanks, Face." He meant that. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but he knew Face would be there for him. It made everything easier somehow. "Tell Stockwell he's still my snookie wookie ums."

With that he hung up the phone and made his way to the car.

***X*X*X***

Frankie was off the Nintendo the moment Face mentioned the word "shooting." Face was right; it was on all the local stations. Unfortunately, he didn't have a chance to hear many of the details from the news report before the front door opened and who should appear but the devil himself. Face turned and glared at him as he stepped into the room ever-so-casually.

"Who's shooting at Murdock?" Face demanded, point blank.

Stockwell was as calm as ever, as if a shooting was nothing more than a mere technical glitch. "No one said anything about Captain Murdock being shot at. That is mere speculation."

"So you're saying that Murdock is fine and uninvolved in this random shooting near his place?" Frankie asked, full of disbelief. "This is just a coincidence?"

Stockwell slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit. "I don't believe the news reports have said anything about the intended target.

"The news reports say machine gun," Face said dryly. "I'm betting it's actually an assault rifle. And you know nothing about this at all, right?"

"Only that there were shots fired near the apartment. Regarding which I came to offer my assurance that I have already checked on Murdock and he is just fine."

"So who was doing the shooting?"

"Well, that's very difficult to say. Of course, street violence has been on the rise lately."

"Street violence is a far cry from assault rifles."

Stockwell seemed amused. "You sound as if you know more about this than I do."

"You already know exactly what I know about this. I'm sure you were right there listening when that call came in."

"Well, as for who and what was behind those shots, I can't say. But with the increase in arms smuggling these days, it seems that assault weapons are becoming much more easily accessible to street level thugs."

"Street level thugs?" Even Frankie didn't buy that. "You expect us to believe that street level thugs are going after Murdock?"

Face's glare remained steady, but he already knew he didn't have a chance in hell of getting the answer he wanted out of Stockwell.

"As I have already said, we do not have enough information to determine that Captain Murdock was even the intended target. Further speculation is both pointless and futile."

The way he spoke was somehow both dismissive and cutting, and yet his tone of voice never seemed to rise above disinterested. Frankie's face was like stone. No emotion was visible. Face glared steadily at Stockwell. He did not believe, even for a moment, that Stockwell knew nothing more about this than what he'd seen on the news and heard on the phone call he'd listened in on. The man may not care if Murdock lived or died, but he would still know the details of any impending threat.

"If he wasn't the intended target, then who was?"

Stockwell ran his fingers across the fireplace mantle and then looked at them, as if this was an inspection and he was looking for dust. "I couldn't begin to speculate on that."

Frankie folded his arms. "So if you have no information and nothing to add to this, why did you come in here? What do you want?"

Stockwell seemed amused by the question. "Why, I am merely here to offer my assurances that there is no need to worry about Murdock."

"We're very reassured," Face said coldly. Anything to make him leave.

Stockwell nodded. "If anything changes, you will, of course, be informed."

Face watched the man go with a glare. Like hell, they'd be informed. But right now, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it but wait for that phone call from Murdock. Then he'd get some real answers.

*X*X*X*

"You could just drop me off." Bev's brow was furrowed as she watched him put the car into park in the short term parking lot.

"I could also run around naked and declare myself Queen of England, but I'm not going to do that either."

She blinked, confused.

"Look, Bev, do you have a plan here?"

It was not an accusation, or an attack. It was a question to a friend he was worried about. And he didn't like the frown he received as an answer, as if the question was right out of left field. She didn't have a plan.

"Of course I have a plan."

"Does you plan take into account that well organized, well armed men were able to find you and set up a well thought out trap. And that if they were smart enough to do that, they are smart enough to have the airports, bus and train stations under surveillance by now?"

"Well, that's a risk I'm going to have to take. It's damn sure better than sitting here."

"You don't have your purse with you, so you have no passport. Getting out of the country will be tricky, assuming you're able to get a flight in the first place when you don't have cash on you."

She blinked, stunned by the simple necessity of things she hadn't even considered.

"I, on the other hand, happen to have a wallet flush with money just waiting to be set free."

It took her a few moments to put together what he was actually suggesting. She frowned again. "What is this? Let's make a deal?"

"Sure, and I'm a younger, better looking Monty Hall." He smiled and gave her his best game show host imitation. "Offering you the one time deal of a lifetime! I walk you inside and buy two plane tickets to anywhere you want to go. In addition to a fun-filled, exciting trip with yours truly, you get the added bonus of making to your destination alive!"

She stared, eyes wide as saucers. "Go _with _me?"

He let the smile drop. "Look Bev, Just let me get you to some place safe, then you can do whatever you have to."

Her laugh was one of mockery, shock, and tension that was almost panic. Turning away from him, she hid her face with her hand and mumbled under her breath. "I don't believe this."

"I know. It's a great offer." She was overwhelmed and guarded, all understandable. But he couldn't let her just go in to that airport and face a bunch of killers alone.

"Not quite how I would've described it."

"Well, if you're not up to having a travel companion, at least let me get you a plane ticket."

As long as he got the ticket, following her was easy. Which was the problem. If he could do it, someone else could do it just as easily. Someone with less interest in her safety.

"Look, you don't have to tell me anything. You're in trouble, you need help. I'm willing. So how about we go ahead in there and get you on a plane before the men with guns show, okay?"

She turned her head to look at him, still holding her head. Then she sighed as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, handing them to him.

"When the police clear my apartment, there's twenty thousand dollars in the inside pocket of the black leather jacket hanging in the back of the closet. Take whatever the ticket costs and whatever you want for your troubles and put the rest into my account at First Standard Bank. Okay?"

He managed not to sigh at her, his smile holding firm. Did she really think it was about the money?

"Sure thing." He took the keys and pocketed them."

The changes of that cash making past a real police search where slim to none, but he could put the money in her account. No need for her to know that her escape pod was stolen. Murdock glanced around. Habit had him searching faces, but so far, so good. He got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and smiling as he held out a hand to her.

"Come darling, you've got a flight to catch."


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

The airport was not crowded. There was no particular reason it would've been. Murdock walked with her through the front doors, headed for the check in counter. His eyes were scanning. He saw the man - tall, dark hair, black suit, average looking - approaching her before she did.

"Going somewhere, Beverly?"  
She spun so fast that she nearly fell over. Murdock had already, instinctively, put himself between the two of them. He would bet money there was a gun in a shoulder holster under that jacket. The man was government of some type or another; he reeked of it. And he was about as subtle as Stockwell's lackeys. But he had no counterpart. That was odd. Usually federal agents traveled in pairs - like evil and shoes.

She wasn't afraid of him. She didn't flinch at his presence, only glared daggers. She recognized him; Murdock could tell it instantly by the look in her eyes. And he didn't seem to be posing any immediate threat to her. She opened her mouth to reply, but Murdock cut her off, draping an arm over her shoulders as he smiled at the intruder.

"Yeah, we're going out to New Mexico to see the world's largest ball of twine."

Murdock watched to see how he handled that one. He could already feel the adrenaline setting in, the thrill of meeting an opponent. Hyper-aware of his surroundings and focused on Agent Goon, he was ready for damn near anything.

"You're welcome to come with us," he continued when he received no response. "But you're gonna be overdressed in that suit."

The goon ignored him. Beverly stepped forward, ducking out from underneath his arm. "You don't answer your phone anymore?"

"Ms. Richards, I'm going to need you to come with me."

"Where the hell were you?" Her voice took on a threatening tone as she stepped closer to him, right into his personal space. "Where were you when I was getting _shot _at in my own fucking apartment?"  
"You _were _warned," he said flatly.

"You said there was a potential threat and couldn't even tell me what that threat was."

"We weren't certain about the nature of the threat at the time."

"They sent someone to _kill _me, you fucking moron! And you weren't even there to answer the damn _phone_!"

Moving his hands to his jacket pockets, Murdock kept his posture casual. She was definitely in some type protection program. And so far they hadn't done such a great job of protecting her. As interested as Murdock was in hearing Agent X's reason for why he hadn't picked up the phone, he was far more interested in getting them out of the middle of the check in area - with glass windows on one side and a whole lot of people on the other. The security in here wasn't amazing, and even if it was, those windows were not comforting.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Murdock said, eyeing the man. "It's not that I don't love playing 'getting to know you' with a representative of the alphabet soup agency out here in the wide open." His hands came out of his pocket as he made a causal gesture to the glass walls and doors that surrounded them. "But there is at least one heavily armed man with every reason to be heading this way, looking for my friend here."

The agent turned his eyes to Murdock, looking him up and down with a calm appraisal that finally ended in disinterest. "This doesn't concern you."

Murdock's smile slipped and he stood up straighter, his voice losing some of its pleasant tone. "Look, Hoss, unless your backup plan involves a bunch of hot lead and bits of people decorating the inside of the airport, maybe you wanna get a move on and get us out of the open. 'Cause not for nothing, that .38 special you're packing isn't gonna do much against their M-16s."

Murdock was pushing buttons, and he knew it. Hell, he was _trying _to. It wasn't just the fact that this man and whatever outfit he worked with had failed to protect Beverly when they'd obviously told her they'd do just that. Nor was it just the fact that he'd left her high and dry after the fact. The man was simply _bad _at his job. He had never once looked at the entrance or exits. He hadn't even bothered to ask who Murdock was. It was a pretty good guess that he didn't even know where his vulnerable points were. If he had, he would've been at least a little concerned about the fact that he had so many of them.

Agent Unknown glared at him briefly before turning back to Beverly. "Ms. Richards, you need to come with me."

Murdock frowned. "You don't take a hint very well, do you?"

"I am not going _anywhere _with you!" Beverly snarled at him. "You tell your boss that all deals are off."

"I'm afraid you don't have that option at this point."

She glared at him. "You just try and force me to stay here. See what happens to your whole case."

"You need not stay in the immediate area. We can certainly discuss options for a more remote location now that this incident has put you in some danger here."

"I was thinking maybe Kenya."

"Well, it is going to be very difficult for you to leave the country with a federal warrant out for your arrest."

"Federal warrant!" she cried. "For _what_? There's nothing connecting me to _any _of that bullshit!"

"For the murder of Andre Monivar."

Murdock's eyes shifted to Beverly and he saw the blood drain from her face. The accusation took all the fight out of her in one fell swoop. It was just the reaction Agent Goon was looking for. Murdock could see it in the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

"Now," the man continued, "for obvious reasons, we have no interest in seeing you serve a life sentence. Therefore, I would suggest that you come with me."

Bev swallowed hard, noticeably. Drawing in a shaky breath, she took a slight step back, closer to Murdock. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she said. "If you want to arrest me, you go right ahead."

Murdock watched him closely. If he had an arrest warrant, why was he even talking to her? Why not just handcuff her and take her away? Why spend precious time arguing with her? Especially when they were standing right out in the open.

"I'm not here to arrest you, Beverly."

That did it. This man was officially off his rocker. And whatever game he was playing, he was going to get them all killed.

"In case you've forgotten, you and I are on the same side."

"You have a very funny way of showing it," Murdock said flatly, slipping his arm around Beverly's waist as she came closer to him. He didn't have to think about it. It was a natural response.

The man's attention turned to Murdock, again regarding him with calm nonchalance. "I am going to ask that you step down before I have you forcibly removed from this airport."

"Look, who the hell are you?" Murdock demanded. "And who's in charge of this operation?"

"That is absolutely none of your concern."

He stepped forward, away from Bev and closer to the man, just shy of stepping into his personal space. "Well, I'm _making _it my concern, Agent Whoever-the-hell-you-are. If you're going to arrest her, have at it. Otherwise, _you _can step down. Because unlike you, I care about whether or not we and all these civilians get shot at, standing out in the open."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't make a move.

"I'm leaving," Murdock continued. "She's either leaving with me, or she's leaving with you in handcuffs. Because I think she's made it clear those are the only two options here."

As the agent looked back at him, their stares locked hard. Murdock waited, daring him to make a move, a threat, a comeback. He waited for the handcuffs to come out. But they didn't. The man just stared. When he said nothing for a long moment, Murdock continued, low in his throat.

"Ms. Richards and I are going go find somewhere nice and quiet like to hole up. Not something as nice as the Twine Ball motel and lodge, because that's hard to beat. But somewhere she can be watched by people who aren't likely to get her killed because of their goddamn incompetence." Speaking to the woman beside him, he kept his eyes focused on Agent X. His voice was softer with her, but just as sure. "What do you say, Bev?"  
Bev studied him for a moment, and then looked back at the man. "That doesn't violate the terms of our agreement, does it?" It was a challenge, if a bit shaky, more than it was a question.

The man stared at her for a moment, and then stepped back as he raised his hands in surrender. "Knock yourselves out."  
Murdock's jaw almost dropped in surprise. That easy? He'd expected _far _more of a fight than that. Who the hell was this guy?

As Agent X looked at Beverly again, his eyes turned cold. "I suggest you stay in touch. If you don't, things could get very dangerous for you. On both sides of the law."

"I'll take my chances, jackass."

Bev took a step toward the entrance and Murdock moved his hand to her shoulder, ushering her away without turning his back to the agent. There was a mix of fascination and horror at the idea that this guy was simply going to let him walk out with a federal witness. Agent Asshole was either dumber then a box of rocks, or he knew a hell of a lot more than he was letting on.

When the man smirked, slipped his hands into his pockets, and watched them leave with nothing short of amusement, Murdock had a sinking feeling it was the latter.

*X*X*X*

Murdock was still waiting for the shoe to drop as he opened the passenger side door for Bev and looked around as she ducked into the car. What the hell was going on here? Whatever else she was, she was apparently a material witness to _something_. Why the hell wasn't she in protective custody? They didn't want her leaving the country, but why the hell did they need to use a murder charge to keep her here? If she was a federal witness, that was more than enough to lock her up and keep her from going anywhere. And most importantly of all, if she was a federal witness, why had Agent X just allowed her to waltz out of the airport with an unknown man and disappear into the wild blue yonder? The guy had never even gotten Murdock's name.

It didn't make sense. None of it did. Why didn't he arrest her? It wasn't the murder charge in and of itself that raised the red flag; it was the fact that he had a warrant, and was purporting to be a member of law enforcement, and _didn't _arrest the murder suspect. Why even announce that he had it?

Of course, a fed would have just grabbed her by the arm and taken her away, arrest warrant or no. He didn't need a murder charge to do that. He could have arrested her on a material witness warrant and put her wherever he wanted her. Why threaten her? And to that point, why give her the option of non-compliance after the threat was made?

That wasn't the only thing that didn't make sense. Why say, "You were warned?" They should have dragged her out of her place if they had even a hint of a threat. There was no warning; there was only decisions. And the decision would not have been hers, unless they really didn't care if she got killed. But then why stop her from running? If they didn't care, why warn her at all? Feds didn't do this sort of thing for fun. They needed her, and alive. No reason to let her stay at her place. She should have had no choice.

None of this made sense. The man looked like a fed and talked like one, but he was not acting like one. Even aside from all of the pieces that didn't fit together, he was about as competent as one of Stockwell's lackeys. The thought stopped him cold for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. Stockwell loved games more than anyone Murdock had ever known, and his Abels were completely inept. But if there was anything she had that he wanted, he would just take it. He didn't need to threaten with a murder charge, he simply charged with murder. Stockwell reeked of illuminati; Agent X reeked of mid-level flunky on the take.

But even that wasn't quite sufficient to explain what he'd just seen. He would still have someone to answer to, and it was impossible to think of any governmental higher power who would orchestrate something so backwards. Either this guy was the worst agent in history, or he knew more than he was playing at. Why not arrest her? Why leave her in danger? Why let her walk away? Was he dirty or was this some sort of side project? Was he looking to make a name and didn't have the resources and channels of a normal case? Was it a favor for a friend? Hell, for all Murdock knew, he could've been a private bodyguard hired to take care of some rich old man's daughter. Murdock knew nothing about Bev that would _prevent _that from being the case. And he'd never actually seen the man's badge...  
"You okay?" he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Bev nodded, but said nothing.

"Who was that guy?"

She hesitated for a long moment before answering. "His name is Richard. He's with the FBI."

The hell he was.

Murdock had a million questions, but they would have to wait. First, they needed to get someplace that was at least relatively safe. And he needed to make a phone call.

*X*X*X*

"So she's with you?"

"Yes."

Face wasn't entirely surprised, but he was a bit concerned. Just what was Murdock supposing he was going to _do _with her now that he had her?

"There's something very weird going on here, Face. I need to talk with you someplace safe."

Face glanced at the clock. The term "someplace safe" was in no way vague. He knew exactly where Murdock was asking him to go: a hotel on the north side of town that they'd prearranged almost as soon as they'd settled in here. It would take him at least an hour and probably longer to get out, shake the guards, find a vehicle, and drive there.

"How about at two?"

"That's fine."

Face paused for a minute. "Do me a favor and be careful, will you? With Hannibal and BA gone, we don't need to be mounting a rescue because you and your girlfriend got taken by street thugs."

"These are not street thugs, Face. These are big bad, M-16 toting thugs, definitely not street level."

"Stockwell would beg to differ."

"I'd pay a lot of money to see Stockwell beg, but that's just me."

Face smiled as he glanced at the clock again. "I'll see you at two."

"I'll be waiting."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Murdock had made sure they weren't followed. Until he knew for sure what this was all about, he was falling back on the one thing he knew for a fact was safe: trust no one but the team. Paranoia was better than being caught off guard by some unknown threat. He'd parked the car in a lot downtown and took a bus to a random stop and found a place to grab lunch. They didn't stay to eat it at the restaurant. Better to take it someplace out of the open. Besides, they needed to talk.

A different bus took them several blocks from ten story hotel they walked to. The room he wanted was on the third floor, close to the stairwell and far from the elevator and with a balcony that overlooked the parking lot. It was the safest place they had to talk, and where Face would be meeting him shortly.

Bev moved immediately to the balcony, not giving a second glance to the food. Murdock made a habitual quick check for listening devices before he joined her. She was sitting on the cement floor, in the corner and against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest, dragging from her cigarette as if her life depended on it. He fought the urge to bring her inside. They were high enough up that she wouldn't be seen from street level. No one knew where she was, let alone would they have had the time to set up a sniper.

Pushing his hands inside his jacket pockets, he watched her for a moment. "Hell of a day for you huh?"

She shut her eyes and put her head back. He gave her space, remaining in the doorway, watching her quietly.

"Who do you work for really?" she finally asked.

He sighed as he stepped out onto the balcony. That was a fair question, but it wasn't easy to answer. As he sat down beside her, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. "You said you're a pilot, but that's a lie. You go to work in blue collar uniforms - I'd guess a factory. And I'd be happy with that except you knew to run from the police. You didn't argue with me about leaving. Most people would've tried to force me to call the cops."

He nodded slowly. She was right. Most people would have. Funny, it hadn't even crossed his mind, or seemed the least bit odd to him that it hadn't crossed hers.

"At the moment, I'm unemployed," he finally offered. "But my friends work for a tiny little man with a lot of power in... government things. Where my friends go, I go. So, technically, I volunteer my services."

She looked at him, but there was nothing in her eyes. "Why lie?"

"Because their lives depend on it."

There wasn't anything else he could say to that. At this moment, Stockwell held all the cards on all the people who mattered to him. He would lie, cheat, steal and kill to keep them as safe as he could. There was no guilt associated with any of it - not even a second thought. It was just the way things were.

She studied him for a moment, then dragged on her cigarette, looking away. "And did this tiny little man with governmental power send you to look after me?" she asked coldly.

"No." The response was automatic. He had to steel himself against the sudden, irrational anger at the thought of Stockwell doing that. "As far as I knew, you were the girl next door. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Just seems a little odd, that's all," she said quietly. "All of it. I don't know if I'd rather believe that they knew you worked with the government and they set this whole thing up from the beginning or if it's more comforting that they let me walk away with a perfect stranger."

In terms of "comforting," it was no contest for Murdock. In terms of "sensical," well, that was another issue altogether.

"Look, Bev, I'm a pilot, not an agent. Hell, if I was supposed to be looking out for you, I would've done a much better job of it."

She looked at him again. "What sort of pilot?"

He sighed again. "I've spent decades working with a Special Forces unit. First in Vietnam, then here in the States. It's a long story, and I really can't explain it to you. But just believe me when I say right now, all I'm looking for is how to get you out of this mess, alive and safe."

She was quiet for a long moment, chaining to another cigarette and putting her head back against the wall again. She sighed deeply. "I would've been fine if I'd just stayed away," she said bitterly. "I never should've come back to the States."

She'd been on the run. Somehow, that wasn't surprising.

"It's hard to stay away from everything you know," he said quietly. There was calm understanding there. Living on the run was boring, lonely, and less-than-glamorous.

"But I wouldn't be in this position right now."

"And I never would've gotten the chance to meet you."

She looked back at him and he answered with a tight smile, giving her a moment to see if she would continue. He would prefer to let her take this at her pace, and he had time. He could be patient.

She sighed again, and finished her cigarette, stubbing it out on the cement beside her. "I suppose you want to know what this is all about."

"You might just want to start with who was in your apartment. Since I'm assuming they're the ones you were running from."

She picked at the frayed threads at the knee of her jeans, saying nothing for a long moment. Then she sighed, resigned. "It's a gun smuggling operation in San Antonio, Texas. The guy who used to run it was named Andre Monivar. He's the one I'm accused of murdering."

"Did you?"

She turned and looked at him. "Did I what?"

"Murder him?"

It was a simple question, point blank. She reacted with silence and a cold stare. There was anger there, hidden underneath her mask of calm. She did kill the man; Murdock knew that instantly. But the fact that she killed him or the reasons why didn't matter much to Murdock at this particular moment. They could deal with that later. Right now, he was far more interested in whether she lied about it or not.

"Why does it matter?" she finally asked, her voice cold.

"Because I want to know if I can trust you."

"You can't trust me," she answered immediately. "But I'm not suicidal, and I'm not ungrateful. And I do recognize what you did for me back there."

"Do you?" He raised a brow. "I'm glad one of us does because I haven't got a clue what happened back there."

She closed her eyes and put her head back. She'd successfully avoided the question, and he felt no need to pin her down on it. She hadn't lied outright and he had to admit that in her position, he probably wouldn't trust him either. Sometimes it was best to trust no one at all. Well, no one but the team, in his case. Nothing about her suggested she knew anything about what it was like to rely on a team that you knew would be unconditionally loyal.

"I dated him for years," she finally continued. "I know everything there is to know about the operation."

"Guns, you said?"

"Yes."

"Well, that explains the M-16s."

"After Andre's death, I knew his brother would take over. Travis. He hated me, almost from the start. So I took every penny I could get my hands on - which was a considerable amount, since I had access to all of Andre's accounts in addition to mine - and I ran."

"Where did you go?"

"I spent a year wandering all over Europe and Asia. Nowhere in particular. I eventually ended up in Bangladesh, India. Don't ask me why I stopped there; the place is a hell hole. I guess it was just where I was when I stopped running. I didn't know anybody there. In a year of living there, I didn't meet anybody worth remembering. But there was just no point in running anymore and I was tired, so I stopped."

He nodded slowly. There was more there. There was a very big difference between someone who stops running and someone who decides to go back and face what they were running from. "So where does Richard the pseudo FBI agent fit into all of this?"

"Pseudo FBI agent?"

Murdock smirked. "That man is phonier than Burt Reynolds' hair."

She was quiet for a long moment, dragging off of her cigarette and exhaling slowly. "Richard showed up at my door about a month ago with an FBI badge and offered me a deal. He told me they wanted my testimony, and they wanted my help in shutting down the operation. He said if I would help, and if I would testify during the trial, that they would set me up someplace safe and they would make sure that no charges were filed against me in conjunction with the operation."

Warning bells were sounding in Murdock's brain. The next question would tell him a lot. "And when did you testify?"

"I haven't."

Nothing about that was FBI. That was so wrong on so many levels, he couldn't even point out all of the things that didn't make sense. That was simply _not_ how the government worked deals. That was the sort of smoke and mirrors shit that Stockwell used. The government would have put her in a safe house, gotten her testimony, and then set her up with a new life. They wouldn't have left her hanging. They wouldn't have given her options. And they wouldn't have _waited_.

She took another long drag. "Once I got here and they put me in that apartment, it was like I was cut off. I didn't hear from Richard again - even when I called him - until last night when he shows up at my apartment and says, 'Whoops. You seem to be in some danger. We're going to move you somewhere else.' I told him to get the hell out."

"Did you ever sign any paperwork? See any contract? Take depositions?"

She shook her head. "Nothing like that. It never even occurred to me. I just assumed the man knew what he was talking about and if I followed the rules, they'd tell me what they wanted when they wanted it."

He couldn't fault her for that. Hell, he couldn't even count the number of scams had he and Face had pulled off simply because people saw a badge and followed the rules they set down. He sighed.

"The thing is, Bev, that's not how a deal works. If the feds want you, they arrest you and put you in protective custody. You don't get a say in where you go. If they want you moved, they move you. And they don't let you sit around without testifying."

"Well, that's all very obvious in retrospect. But I haven't exactly done this before."

She finished her cigarette and stubbed it out. Then she folded her hands, resting her wrists on her knees. Murdock sighed as he looked away. "This still doesn't answer the question of who Agent Dick really worked for," he said quietly.

"Well, I know who he reported to _directly_," Bev answered. "I talked to the guy on a two way video screen when they flew me back to the States."

Murdock stared at her, processing that a little too slowly. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "But I don't even remember what he looks like. There was nothing about him that was particularly -"

"Did you ever get his name?" And why was Murdock's skin suddenly crawling?

She stared for a moment, as if wary of the interruption. But ultimately she shrugged off the question as if it were meaningless. "I don't remember his first name. Just that it was something odd. But I'm pretty sure his last name was Stockwell."

*X*X*X*

"That arrogant, overblown, manipulative little fuck is the man who had her brought here!"

Murdock was pacing. Face watched him silently from the table and chair near the window, processing slowly and calmly. He was surprised, but Murdock's anger was enough to overrule any reaction Face might've had himself.

"What the hell is that pint sized bastard thinking. He has no business, no right! She was involved with gun running, Face! Since when does he give a damn about that? Huh? What the hell does he want with her? If it's not a planet-changing power play, he doesn't give a damn! So why go to all the trouble of going after her India, of all places, and putting her next to me? Obviously he wanted the two of us to meet so where the hell does he get off playing matchmaker? What sort of twisted ass does that?"

Face glanced out the sliding glass doors at the woman sitting on the cement floor of the balcony. She didn't appear afraid, but she didn't seem to have much interest in this conversation, either. He was pretty sure she could hear bits and pieces of it, at least, through the glass.

"He sends some monkey boy out to scare her into taking a deal, makes it sound like he's going to put her in witness protection, then he just leaves her! Stupid fuck almost gets her killed! What the hell is that all about?"

It sounded an awful lot like a rhetorical question. Face leaned back again, hands folded in his lap, and watched Murdock pace.

"I knew there was something wrong. Who in the hell lets a total stranger walk off with a federal witness? Who uses a murder charge not to get someone arrested but just to try to scare her into doing what he wants? Oh, wait, I know! The same twisted bastard who uses a trumped up murder _conviction_ to keep a whole fucking team at his disposal!"

Face watched him calmly. The brief lull in anger came accompanied by a full silence for a few seconds. Maybe it was time to speak. "So what does he want from her?"

"How the hell should I know!"

Murdock was off again, pacing in the opposite direction, anger back in full force. Apparently it was not time to speak yet.

"Gun runners, Face. What the hell does he care about gun runners? It's no wonder they never actually wanted anything from her when she got set up in that apartment. He doesn't give a damn about gun runners. And apparently he doesn't give a damn about her! You can't tell me that those dumbasses who sit outside my apartment day in and day out had _no _idea that she was in any kind of danger when _Stockwell _is the one who put her there! And then to add insult to injury, all of this comes out and she's wondering if I was being paid to keep an eye on her! And it's no fucking wonder because the man who started this whole problem _is _the man I work for. Seems to me like I _am _being paid to keep an eye on her and god damn it, Face, that makes me so mad I just want to beat the ever loving shit out of -"

"Murdock, you're talking about a gun operation that's a big enough deal to send someone a thousand miles to kill her in a very public way," Face interrupted. His patience for the irrational anger was not endless. They all knew Stockwell did this sort of thing. There was no sense in getting so bent out of shape about it. They simply needed to deal with it. "We all know that Stockwell wouldn't bring her here to testify against them."

"Of course not. She's just another god damned pawn for him."

"Whatever he wants with her, he'll make it clear sooner or later. But at this point, it might be in her best interest if we focus our attention on how to keep her alive. Since he doesn't seem to have a tremendous amount of interest in doing that."

Murdock frowned, the anger subsiding just the slightest bit as he looked out the sliding glass door at her. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out slow. "So what do you suggest we do?" he asked in his best "calm and sane" voice.

Face smiled at the effort and nodded towards the phone. "The very first thing I would suggest is that we call Hannibal."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Gun runners, huh?" Hannibal said over the speakerphone. "That doesn't sound like Stockwell's bag."

"There's a lot about this that doesn't make sense," Face replied.

"You know," Bev started hesitantly, "I'm not sure what scale you guys think on when I say gun running, but this is a multi-million dollar operation. And it's not strictly guns, either. Everybody knows everybody and favors are worth a lot. I know Andre transported drugs, too, on occasion. And girls."

"Are they running them in from Mexico?" Face asked, watching the way Murdock stilled at that. "Or are the bringing them from all over?"

She would know why he was asking that. Bringing girls across the Mexican border wasn't that uncommon for people with loose morals and the need of a quick buck. Human trafficking from Russia, Asia and other international points meant a very sophisticated network with many well-placed and powerful contacts.

"I don't know," she answered. "I tried to stay out of that area of things. But I know it was going on because the threat was always there that if I stepped out of line, I might disappear. That traffic went both ways - import and export."

"What are of things _were _you involved in?" Hannibal asked.

"The guns. I know everything there is to know about that area of the operation. At least, about the way it worked two years ago."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was with a casual tone. "Is Frankie there with you? I haven't heard his voice."

"He's at the compound with the Nintendo," Face answered. "I'll brief him."

"Well, it sounds like you guys have three options," Hannibal said. "You can go to Stockwell and

pray for honesty, you can get her out of the country - under the radar since that he probably _does _have that warrant out for her arrest, or you can take a trip down to Texas and find some drug runners."

"I got a better chance of winning Miss America than Stockwell does of telling the truth," Murdock said confidently. "And we won't get down to Texas without him knowing about it."

"Sure you will," Hannibal replied. It was that tone of voice that made it perfectly clear he already had a plan. "All you need is an excuse. When I get kidnapped tomorrow morning, he's not going to be able to ground you any more than he was able to in China."

"Except he came _with _us to China," Face reminded him.

"Well, the situation there was a little more a matter of worldwide concern. This is just a bar brawl that got out of control. But with a couple explosions, it could masquerade as something more. And it's not like he's able to do much else with you while we're down here."

"That'll get us to San Lucino, not to San Antonio."

"Unless he's going to send you in his personal jet, we've got the other one down there with us. Complete with a very bored pilot we've managed to not see since we arrived."

"Commercial?" Face asked.

"I can rig something," Murdock said confidently. "That's not an issue."

"Sounds like you've got it settled then."

Face glanced up at Bev, checking her reaction to all of this. She was standing with her arms folded, staring out the sliding glass doors. "It's your call, Beverly," he said plainly. "If you want to run, we'll get you out. If you want to stay, we'll help you."

"The man tried to kill me." Finally, she turned and looked at him, her eyes dead cold. "I would appreciate the opportunity to return the favor."

*X*X*X*

Murdock stood in the doorway and watched her as she stood looking out at the sky, arms hugged across her chest. He didn't speak. He knew there were a lot of things he could say - things he should say. But right now, he couldn't think of any of them. Luckily, in the end, he didn't have to.

"You ever think about the fact that right now, while it's so calm and peaceful where we are, someone's out there lying in a pool of their own blood and choking to death on their last few breaths?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that. He wasn't sure why she would even ask it, though he immediately and instinctively identified with that cold detached tone in her voice. The images that flashed in his mind where as vivid as they day he'd acquired them. He had seen plenty of dying breaths. He had even caused a few of them. What was she seeing, when she said those words?

Pushing his hands into his pockets he answered a soft, sincere, "Sometimes."

Maybe she just needed to talk. If she did, he was willing to listen. Listening was easier than talking when it came to topics like this.

"I've seen a lot of people die," she said low. "A lot of people who deserved it and a few that didn't. Fucking ironic that they're gonna nail me on Andre, out of all of them."

There was anger in her tone, and he didn't rise to it. He just watched, and listened quietly.

"All his power and all his money didn't buy him much in the end. It won't buy Travis much either."

Murdock hesitated for a moment, watching her reach into the pocket of her jeans for her cigarettes. She was finishing up her third pack since noon. And with shaky fingers, it took her a few tries to get the end of it lit. He wondered just how bad it had gotten for her. If he had to guess, it was pretty bad. Bad enough, at least, to keep her from sleeping at night.

"We're not going down there to kill Travis," he said quietly. "Another one just like him would take his place. You know that."

She didn't answer. He could feel the tension sheeting off of her as she leaned on the railing. But he didn't press her. She'd talk, if she wanted to, in her own time.

"People don't suspect a pretty, young girl." She exhaled, blowing smoke into the air, and hugged her arms over her chest again. "You can get away with all sorts of things. I never had to try. It just came naturally. Telling people what they want to hear, making them dance to my tune. In all of it, I was just trying to get his attention." She paused for a long moment and continued in a whisper, barely audible. "And I got it."

He wondered how old she was as this "pretty young girl." Why she'd needed to get his attention and money so badly. Had he been her ticket to somewhere or away from somewhere? Whatever the case, she had needed something and used what she had to get it. He could understand that. It was something Face did on a regular basis, and he did himself, when needed. It was a survival skill. The fact that she knew how to use it was really no surprise.

" Problem is, I was too young and stupid to realize that once I was in, I was never getting out." She paused, and took another long drag from her cigarette. "It wasn't really supposed to work that way. I chose him _because _he was a bad man. Because I didn't want to have to deal with drama when I left him. I didn't want him to love me."

Murdock couldn't help but raise a brow at that. He wanted to ask more, but he didn't want to interrupt. Instead, he just listened.

"He wanted me keep the eyes off of him, make him look good, be a liaison from time to time." She shrugged. "And to put out. That was just an assumed part of the deal."

Of course it was. Another thing he could've figured out on his own.

She turned, and leaned back against the ledge, watching him. "In case you're wondering, I have no regrets about killing him. I did it, and I'm not sorry. You can put me on the record and send me to prison. I still won't be sorry. I took his money. He took everything I was. And then I made it stop. A bullet to the side of his head while he slept like a baby. And I _laughed_."

The way she said it made it sound so simple, as if every aspect of her life was just that cut and dry, cause and effect. The only emotion was that same cold, vicious anger he saw in her eyes. Something in him recognized that tone, that air, that lack of remorse. It was nothing more than a statement of fact. She'd killed him and that was that.

"I don't give a damn if you killed him, Bev." It was just that cut and dry to him too. "The world's a better place without him."

She studied him for a moment, wary and yet curious at the same time. "You know, most people don't share your feelings on that."

He gave a shrug at that. This Andre had hurt her in ways she couldn't even say. He could feel it pouring off her, even if her tone and expression betrayed nothing but anger. "Most people have never been really trapped," he said, his voice neutral. "Alone and hurt and desperate to survive."

"And you have? Pilot?" Her tone was a challenge, but not a threat. Curious, but not prying. As if she was asking a question she already knew the answer to, but couldn't quite accept until she heard it out of his mouth.

"Yeah," he answered flatly. "I have."

He stood unflinching under her gaze. Still. He barely breathed, didn't blink. But he could feel the fire of emotions in his chest as her question stirred them to life. They were dark and intense, and carefully, methodically buried under layer after layer of protective covering. People didn't want to see that in him. Hell, _he _didn't want to see it. It was too dark, too dangerous. Even frightening.

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Just as detached as he knew his own was, and yet somehow, not cold. "I know you have," she whispered. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I never wanted anyone to see it." The quiet admission almost caught him off guard. Why was he telling her that? He didn't regret it, didn't wish to take it back, but he shut his mouth to avoid saying anything else without thinking.

She smiled faintly, and took a step closer to him, slowly raising her hand to touch the side of his face. "Don't worry. You hide it well."

There was something very distant in her eyes, in spite of that smile. He watched her as she walked into the room, stripping her clothes as she went. Wearing only a pair of black panties, and keeping her back toward him, she slipped under the covers of the king size bed and curled herself around the pillow.

He said nothing as he followed her inside, locking the balcony door and checking the chain on the door leading into the hallway. He left the bathroom light on but shut the others off and slipped his pistol underneath his pillow before stripping down to his boxers and crawling into the bed beside her.

She wasn't huddled against the edge of the bed, and if she'd really wanted to be left alone, she would've at least left her shirt on. He moved closer to her, touching her shoulder first and, when she didn't flinch, moving his hand down her side. His arm circled her as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply. Why did women always smell so good?

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Just fine."

He smiled. "You know, in Vietnam we had to establish distress codes, just in case you ever had to tell someone on a radio that you _weren't _okay when the enemy had a gun to your head telling you to say you were. We used 'just fine.' If someone was 'just fine,' they were under duress."

She turned onto her back and he moved back slightly as her eyes locked on his. "I'm not under duress," she said flatly.

"Your mouth says that." He touched her lips with the tip of his finger, then lightly tapped her temple. "Your eyes say otherwise."

Her brow furrowed. "Why do you care so much?"

He smiled, sliding his hand back into her hair. "A better question is, why is it so strange to you that I care so much?"

"There's nothing in this for you."

"That's okay. I'm not doing it for me."

"Why are you doing it?" That was a real question. Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, trying to figure him out. He'd seen that look before. It always made him smile.

"You know, Bev, sometimes people do things just because it's the right thing to do."

"No, they don't."

He chuckled softly at the certainty in her voice. "Alright, so why do _you _think I'm doing this?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. The sex can't be that great."

That brought an outright laugh from him. "Sex? For real?" He propped his head up on his elbow. "Sex is easy, Bev. You can get it anywhere. You can't tell me a pretty girl like you doesn't know that."

She stared at him again, saying nothing. After a long moment, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Slipping his arm around her, he stroked up and down her back slowly - waist to shoulders and back down again.

"You should go to sleep, Bev," he said quietly as he settled beside her again. "It's almost midnight and tomorrow's going to be one hell of a day. Kinda like this one only... busier."

That confused look was back on her face again. "You don't want to fuck me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Her brow knitted even more.

He chuckled quietly as he pulled her in close to him and turned onto his back, guiding her head to his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Bev."

She was tense, unsure. But after several long minutes of silence, he felt her slowly relax against him. She moved her hand slowly across his stomach and shifted to get more comfortable. Then, finally, with a slow, deep breath in and out, she nuzzled him once more and quietly fell asleep.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"Hannibal was _what_!"

Suzanne's concern was hard to hide. Face only smiled at her.

"It's not quite the way that it sounds." He dragged his feet a little as he walked around the pool with Frankie on one side and Suzanne on the other. It was open out here, and hard to plant listening devices. Even so, he kept his voice down. "The news ought to get to Stockwell early this morning. When it does, he's going to send us down. Only we're not really going to San Lucino. Because Hannibal's not really kidnapped."

Suzanne's brow furrowed. "So he's not kidnapped and you're not going to rescue him."

"Right."

Recovering from her shock, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "You guys never cease to amaze me. Does this have anything to do with the gunfire at Murdock's apartment?"

Face gave his best smile. "I was hoping you'd ask that."

Suzanne looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but managed not to. Instead she smiled. "So are you going to let me know what's going on or should I use my imagination?"

It was teasing, but there was also a reason for that question. She did, technically, work for Stockwell. What they told her was at their discretion. She accepted that.

"Murdock's neighbor was the target of that shooting. Her name is Beverly Richards. Do you know anything about her?"

"Just that Murdock's been out with her socially."

Face kept his voice low as he wandered around the side of the pool, heading in the vague direction of the pool house. "She has some connection to Stockwell. We're not sure exactly what. We were hoping maybe you'd heard something about it."

Frankie kicked a pebble out of the way. "Yeah, like, does Stockwell have the hots for her? Maybe wants to trap her like he has us?"

She frowned, considering that over a drag. "He has never said anything to me about her. And it's not in any reports I've seen. But then again what Stockwell knows and is planning is very different then what he chooses to share."

"Based on what Murdock was saying, Stockwell was directly responsible for bringing her here."

"Does she know why?"

"Our best guess is that it has something to do with a gun running operation in San Antonio that she was formerly involved with."

"But Stockwell's got no reason to care about guns," Frankie added.

Suzanne shook her head. "No, not unless it's a matter of national security. Just not his department."

"Are you familiar with any Agent Richard who might report to Stockwell? I've never met the guy but he was apparently acting as some kind of handler for her."

"I've never heard of an Agent Richard, but I do know for a fact that Stockwell has other operatives. A lot of them in fact. Most of them I've never met."

"Any chance you can check on this Agent Richard?"

There was another pause from her as she studied the water in the pool. Running her tongue over her teeth, she glanced over at Face. "I can try. I just can't guarantee any success. If he is planning something, there is a good chance he is keeping that information well hidden."

"All we're asking is that you check and see."

"That, I can do."

"We'd appreciate it."

There was something in the way she spoke, almost distracted, that made it clear there was something else bothering her. Finally, she looked back at Face. "So you are going to go help her out, right?"

Face smiled again. "Of course we are. Hence, the pseudo-kidnapping."

"But we really need to know what Stockwell has on her a-sap," Frankie said. "So can you help?"

Suzanne looked from Face to Frankie and back again. "I'll help in any way I can."

"Good," Face answered. "As soon as we are officially informed of that kidnapping, I expect to be on our way. Whatever you do, don't let it look as if we're expecting that call."

"Don't worry. I will be very surprised, I promise." She glanced at her watch. "And I'll go see what I can find. If there is anything, I'll try to let you know before you leave."

"Thanks, Suzanne."

She nodded at them and took a few steps towards the house before she turned back around. "Just remember, guys. If Stockwell has a hand in this, and if he knows that you can't help but try to get this girl out of whatever trouble she is in, and he still lets you go off unaccompanied, then chances are you're really still working for him and what he wants."

Face nodded in answer, his voice and eyes serious. "I'm well aware."

With that she turned away and headed towards the house.

*X*X*X*

The phone was ringing. Immediately awake, Murdock sat up, looked around the hotel room once - morning, quiet, Bev still asleep - then reached for it. "Hello?"

"Morning, Murdock." Face. "Where's the best place around here to get a nice plane on short notice?"

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Murdock rubbed his eyes to get them to come into focus. "What kind of plane?"

"Something you can fly that's big enough to get us to San Antonio."

He yawned. "I can fly anything. And any plane is big enough to travel anywhere as long as it can stop to refuel along the -" He stopped as he realized he was pointing out the obvious. Face didn't ask questions with obvious answers.

"What time is it?" Murdock asked, buying himself a moment to wake up.

"Almost eight."

He went back over the conversation, back to the initial question. "I'll get us a plane lined up." He didn't bother explaining. Face wouldn't care anyways. If he said he had it covered, they could move on.

"You need to get back to your apartment," Face said. "Stockwell is going to be there shortly, looking for you."

"Right." Murdock yawned. He glanced at the sleeping figure on the opposite side of the bed. "What about Bev?"

"Leave her there, for now. We'll need her in San Antonio but the hotel is probably the safest place while we get rid of Stockwell."

"Alright, I'll be there in a bit."

As he hung up the phone, he took a moment to reorient himself. He needed coffee. With another quiet yawn, he stood up and gathered his clothes. The morning routine commenced without thought, and he was really starting to miss the coffee by the time he perched on the edge of the bed again. He brushed Beverly's hair back from her face, then leaned down to kiss her jaw, just below her ear. She stirred, nuzzling into the pillow.

"Good morning, Bev."

The hitch in her breathing and the soft moan let him know she'd heard him.

"Don't bother waking all the way up," he whispered. "You can go back to sleep in a minute. I just wanted to let you know I've gotta leave for a few hours."

"Where are you going?"

"I've got to get everything lined up for us to go to San Antonio today."

She groaned, but didn't speak. He smiled as he ran his hand lightly over her hair. "Don't leave the room, okay? It's not safe out there. I'll bring you back coffee and something to eat."

She moaned again, a quiet acknowledgment. Leaving his hand resting on her hair, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her ear. "Enjoy your morning to sleep in. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Bye."

Leaving a soft kiss on her cheek, he smiled as he stood, tucked her in again, and headed for the door.

*X*X*X*

Face did an excellent job of appearing surprised when Stockwell announced Hannibal's current predicament. "Kidnapped? I thought you said this was just a routine advisement! What do you mean, kidnapped?"

"Who do you have doing your intelligence work?" Murdock demanded, rising to his feet. "Monkeys?"

Stockwell smiled that patronizing, calm smile and lowered his head a fraction as if to give them both a chance to vent. But they weren't venting. That would only make them lose credibility with Stockwell, and they both knew it.

Stockwell looked at Murdock, calm and almost dismissive. "Sit down."

He waited for compliance before continuing. Giving his jacket a vicious tug, Murdock took a deep breath before he sat back down in the chair. Stockwell took another breath and continued with that same impeccable calm.

"I'm sending the three of you to take care of this and to assist Colonel Smith in doing what he could not do on his own." There was distaste in those words that made Stockwell's opinion of the entire situation clear. "Since there is no time to waste and since your jet is currently in San Lucino, you'll be taking a commercial flight. The soonest I can get you there will be tomorrow morning."

Face glanced at Murdock for a better solution. "Tomorrow morning" certainly gave them plenty of reason to _seek_ a better solution. He could see Murdock's jaw clench at the disregard Stockwell showed towards Hannibal and BA's safety. It was an act, a set up, but still the man had Murdock mad enough that he all but ground out his words.

"Commercial? Tomorrow? That's the best strings you could pull?"

Stockwell raised a brow. "You have a better suggestion?"

"I can get a plane and get us there _today_."

Frankie had been quiet up to this point. But his eyes were on Murdock now. "If you do, I'm with you. I don't want to wait until tomorrow if Hannibal's in trouble."

Face had to briefly shut his eyes. For a man who'd been in show business, Frankie was _not_ the most convincing actor. His calm outweighed his concern, and that was a little too collected for Frankie. But if Stockwell picked up on it, he didn't say anything.

"I've got a friend who runs a charter company in these parts," Murdock said firmly. "He owes me a favor. I can get a private jet fueled and waiting on the runway in two hours."

Face looked to Stockwell, brows raised, to see if he would even try to challenge that. A long gaze passed between them, and finally Stockwell waved him off. "Fine." He spared Murdock a brief glance. "Call in your favor and I will have Abel 3 and Abel 9 escort you to the airport."

Standing smoothly, Face's reply was as cold as it was polite. "I don't think that'll be necessary. You're sending us to a foreign country to rescue a friend who's been kidnapped. I think we can make it to the airport on our own."

Stockwell smiled again - damn that smile; it always meant he was up to something. But he didn't speak and didn't get in the way as Face walk past him with a glare, Frankie right behind him. They had the time and the plane, but damned if Stockwell wasn't looking like he'd been expecting this all along. Face watched as Murdock gave the man one last parting glare before he followed Face out the door. No doubt he was wondering the same thing Face was. Just what the hell had Stockwell smiling?

*X*X*X*

Suzanne was lucky to catch Stockwell before he left the compound. He stopped halfway to the car and looked back at her. "What can I do for you?"

His tone was fake and unreadable - the same way it always was. Why was it that talking to him always made her want to fidget? It was as if he could see inside her head. Pushing that ridiculous thought out of her mind, she let that professional mask lock into place. Squaring her shoulders, she didn't offer a return smile. This should only be business to her; he would expect her to be serious.

"Sir, I would like to request permission to accompany the team to San Lucino."

"Why?"

"I have field experience in the area and I would be able to offer full reports on the team and their progress."

"You seem very eager." His amusement was evident. "I thought you would have enjoyed a few days of paid leave while the team is away."

"Watching the team is my job and my responsibility," she answered emotionlessly. "I take that very seriously, Sir."

"I'm sure you do. But I would prefer not to place an untrained operative into harm's way."

She flinched. She couldn't help it. "Sir, I'm hardly untrained. I spent years as a field operative with the CIA."

"Yes, and we both know how that ended."

Her jaw clenched as her anger suddenly flared. But he dismissed her with a slight wave. "You will remain here, or you will vacation on your own time. In any case, I do not recommend San Lucino as a vacation spot. The local government seems to be having some troubles from which I will not rescue you, nor permit anyone else to do so."

Her hands were clenched. Rescue her? Just how incompetent did he think she was? She took in a deep breath, trying her damnedest to hide the anger as she counted to ten in her head, very slowly. "The decision is, of course, yours, General."

He smiled knowingly. "Of course it is. You may, if you'd like, accompany the team to the airport. Now if you'll excuse me," he checked his watch, "I have an appointment to keep."

Without another word, he turned and headed for the car. She watched him go in silence. Was he just looking to keep her off guard? To question her value? She forced her shoulders to relax. It didn't really matter one damn bit at this point what his motivations were. Whatever his real reasoning, he was sending the team to do his work. Of that, she was sure.

Damn it, she wished Hannibal was here. He would at least have a clue about what to do with this. Sighing, Suzanne made her way out of the room. It was going to be a long, boring couple of days waiting for the team to get back.

*X*X*X*

"Agent Richard is Empress 3," Suzanne reported. "That's the good news. One of the things I can tell you with some certainty. Pretty much everything else I can tell you is speculation and hearsay."

Face was checking his weapons, sitting on the edge of the hotel room bed as he quickly, efficiently sorted through everything he would be taking. They'd returned to the room to find Bev missing with a note left that she'd gone for breakfast. At least she'd left a note, but Face had no doubt Murdock would clarify with her that that sort of thing was not going to fly over the next few days. The woman seemed to have very little regard for personal safety.

"The fact that he is _Empress_ 3 means he's higher level," Suzanne continued. "The Abels are local security forces, the Cains are international informants and low-level operatives, and the Empresses are the ones really expected to get the job done."

"So that tells us what?" Frankie asked. "That Stockwell really wanted her?"

"It could be indicative of that," Suzanne answered with a shrug. "But unfortunately, it still doesn't tell us _what _he wanted with her. I did talk to him, briefly. He either didn't know or didn't want to say what interest Stockwell has in her, but I can tell you this: Stockwell is well aware of the gun operation she was running. However interested he may or may not be, I couldn't begin to guess."

"Wait, _she _was running?" Face asked.

"That's the theory, yes. It's hard to say who was really the one making the calls. Supposedly, it was Andre Monivar, now deceased. But when the police got around to investigating his murder, they started to wonder if maybe she had taken over in practice, if not in name. Talking to some of the operatives and putting together a history of the operation, right about the time she started dating Andre, it went from a small time smuggling operation employing three people who drove cars back and forth over the Mexican border, to a multimillion dollar one."

Face frowned. "Multimillion?"

"It's speculation," Suzanne clarified. "It's not clear just how large the operation is. But the FBI has made fifteen arrests over the past few years, and struck deals with a number of them, but they still haven't been able to shut it down yet. The man they suspect is in charge now is Andre's half-brother, Travis. He's a 32 year old high school dropout that runs a couple of strip clubs and looks pristine on paper. He's been arrested a couple of times for assault, but nothing that can connect him to the smuggling ring. He's smarter than he looks. Definitely smarter than his brother."

"What happened to Andre?" Frankie asked. "How did he die?"

"Most likely, he pissed off your friend and she shot him in the head while he was sleeping."

Frankie's eyes widened. "She what?"

"She then liquidated all of their joint assets and disappeared off the face of the earth. The police suspected her from the start, but they had only circumstantial evidence, no weapon, and no desire to go chasing her all over the planet. They figured the operation would be crippled with him dead and her on the run, and that's where their interests really lie. So they let it go and left it an open case."

"The operation obviously wasn't crippled," Face said.

"No. As far as the status of the current investigation, I didn't get much. Empress 3 was only interested in it in the realm of how it pertained to _her_, specifically. Not to mention, it was a little awkward to be asking all these questions out of mere curiosity."

Face stood, tucking his gun into the back of his pants, under his jacket. The other went into his shoulder holster. "Did he say anything else that we need to know?"

"Actually, yes." The concern that crossed Suzanne's gaze was hard to hide. She crossed her arms over her chest. "He did mention that she's certifiably sociopathic. If you guys are set on helping her, make sure you keep your eyes and ears open. You wouldn't be the first that she's taken advantage of."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Beverly was where her note had said she'd be - the café across the street with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. She glanced up at Murdock as he approached, but said nothing as she returned to her paper.

Murdock wasn't shocked, but he did sigh. Common sense was not her strongest suit.

"Bev, what are you doing out here?"

She didn't look up at him. "Good morning to you, too."

He sat down across from her. "No, see, it's not a good morning. Because someone is trying to kill you and you are sitting out in the open like maybe breathing is a chore you're looking to get rid of."

She smiled politely at him as she finally folded the newspaper and set it aside. He wasn't sure if it was out of courtesy for him, or for the waitress that had appeared to top off her mug.

"Coffee, hon?" the young woman asked Murdock.

"Please."

"Be right back."

As she walked away, Murdock watched her go, then turned his attention back to Bev. She sipped her coffee slowly. "Do you know how hard it is to get moving in the morning without a cup of coffee?"

"I do," he answered sympathetically. "But it's not worth getting yourself killed over. I told you I'd bring back coffee. And food, too. It's up in the room."

"I appreciate it. But I needed it about two hours ago."

He sighed. "Bev..."

"Look," she interrupted. "I've lived half my life in fear. At some point, you just learn to say, 'If I die, I die.' I'm going to have that risk no matter where I go."

"Well, can you do me a favor and for the next few days, however long it takes before we get this all worked out, don't disappear like this."

"I didn't disappear. I even left you a note and told you exactly where I was going."

"Bev, please. Even if it's not important to you, humor me. Okay?"

The waitress returned, set a cup in front of Murdock, and poured it full of steaming coffee. "Cream or sugar, love?"

"No. Thank you."

"Just let me know if you need anything."

As the woman walked away again, Murdock watched her go, then sighed as he looked back at Bev again. She was staring out the window with that blank, distant look in her eyes. He would never in a million years be able to guess what was going through her head at this moment.

"I hate pretty prisons," she said quietly.

He smiled knowingly. He didn't have to ask what she meant. He knew full well what it was like to be locked up in a place that looked nothing like a cell but felt more confining than any jailhouse.

"It's just a few more days," he assured her. "Then you're not going to have to worry about it anymore."

"Oh, I know that. I'll either kill him or he'll kill me. But one way or another, this ends when I go back down there."

He nodded slowly, staring down at his coffee. "You're right that it will end, but we're not going through all this trouble just to kill Travis when someone just like him is just going to step up and take his place."

"Not necessarily."

"That's the way it always works, Bev. If you want this problem gone for good, want to stop living in fear and get your life back, we need to shut down the operation."

She smiled as she looked across the table at him, but there was nothing in her eyes but cold anger. "You do whatever you feel is necessary," she said quietly. "And I'll do the same. One way or another, this will end."

*X*X*X*

The cabin of the plane was small, but not uncomfortable. Beverly seemed relaxed enough, reading quietly near one of the windows for the first part of the trip. She was clearly thinking about something. She'd been staring at that same page for the past ten minutes and her eyes had stopped moving at least five minutes ago. It was a cover; a way to keep anyone from interrupting her.

Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, Face spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the hum of engine noise. "So, Beverly, are you planning on ordering something from that catalog?"

Beverly glanced up at him and smiled politely. "Not at thirty thousand feet. Or however high up we are right now."

Face glanced at his watch. They had been airborne for about forty minutes, which meant they were just about out of the crowded airspace of the eastern seaboard. Soon Murdock would be entering wide open sky without Stockwell watching for the first time in ages. There was no way he would be able to resist the urge to soar.

Her smile was almost as polite as his, and just as practiced. The tone was conversational, the words cordial. They were both equally important parts of casual politeness. But beneath the mask, he was studying her. He knew she was studying him, as well. He didn't mind. He needed to get a feel for just who this friend/murderer/neighbor was, particularly in light of Suzanne's warning. "Sociopathic" was one thing. A person could be sociopathic - disconnected from people and from human emotion - and not be dangerous. But if she was potentially dangerous to the team, that was a very different story. He needed to know which it was before he determined just how close an eye he needed to keep on her.

Considering that she had just survived a murder attempt, admitted to being a murderer, found out she was wanted for murder, and was now racing straight towards the hometown of both the man she'd murdered and the people looking to murder her, she was remarkable composed. One thing was for damn sure - there seemed to be an awful lot of murder in her life. But that wasn't necessarily proof of intent. There were a lot of variables. He needed to even out the playing field.

"Would you care for something to drink?" he asked, standing up and taking the small step towards the tiny bar and refrigerator.

"Sure." Her tone was exceedingly polite and, at the same time, a bit dismissive. "Whatever you've got."

Face sighed at the pitiful selection, then grabbed two orange juices. One, he held out to her. "Frankie?"

Frankie didn't answer. It took Face a moment to realize he was dead asleep. He chuckled under his breath as he sat down again and adjusted his suit coat before taking a careful sip. They had finished the required small talk and she had made her intent of ignoring him clear. Looking over his drink, Face smiled again as he ignored her hint and spoke again.

"You know, when Murdock mentioned meeting the girl next door, I never would have imagined she had such an interesting history."

"I wasn't aware that he and I were close enough to be a topic of discussion."

The implication that he ought to mind his own business, however well hidden it was in her polite smile, was not missed. Face chuckled. It was like receiving a dress down from Miss Manners. Any amusement he felt about that, he kept strictly to himself.

"I'll admit to becoming a little more interested when you answered the door without pants on."

She looked back at her catalog, dismissing him with a shrug. Subtle was going to get him nowhere. It was time to try the direct approach.

"Your friend, Agent Richard, says you murdered Andre in his sleep."

She didn't look up. "You know a better way to kill a man who's twice your size?"

There was no emotion in that statement at all - not anger, not remorse, not surprise. Face watched her closely for any of the above, but found nothing but cold passivity. It was a little too familiar for his liking - the disenchanted mindset of a human being reduced to something far less than a thinking, feeling, emotional soul. He'd been that himself once. It was a conditioned response to stress and necessity - the mind's way of coping with the horrors of war.

"He also inferred that you're a cold blooded sociopath."

"Flattering."

Face chuckled. "I don't think he intended it that way."

She sighed, finally setting the catalog down as she fixed him in her stare. Good. He had her attention. Now he'd see how she responded to an annoyance. Then, if he played her right, he'd get to see how she responded to a threat.

"What is your angle in all of this?" she demanded.

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I'm not stupid. You guys work for the same guy who brought me back to the States. If you're going to sit here and tell me that this isn't just another way for him to jerk me around, then surely you must have another explanation ready and waiting."

Face smiled. She was putting him on the defense. Most people thought that was a good principle to hold, in conflict. Fortunately, he could control the conversation even better from the defensive position than from the offensive. It was easy to get information out of people who believed they were in control, and spent less effort guarding themselves.

"Is that what you think?" he asked.

"It's certainly crossed my mind."

"Then why take our help at all?"

She shrugged. "Shortest distance between two points?"

It was clearly a question, as if she was baiting him. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, slight smile still curling his lips, he leaned back in his seat.

"Well, if it puts your mind at ease, I'm not exactly Stockwell's biggest fan. If you haven't noticed, he doesn't inspire a lot of trust."

She smiled back - fake and forced but exceedingly polite. "Then I'm sure you can understand why I'm not entirely trustful of him, _or _you."

"But you're here. So you do trust us to some extent."

"Don't get too comfortable. I'll be reevaluating that periodically."

He chuckled. "That's wise. Especially when you've had to spend a long time watching your own back."

"I clearly have something to gain in all this," she continued, ignoring him. "And something to lose. What is it _you're_ getting out of this act of benevolent charity?"

"Ah, to the point. I like it." He took a slow sip of his orange juice, making her wait for his answer. "I like to know what Stockwell has his hands in."

She stared at him, waiting for more. When it didn't come, she raised her brows in a more questioning look. "That's it?" she asked, clearly taken aback by the simplicity of the statement. "That's what you're putting your life on the line for?"

He laughed. "I've put my life on the line for less."

She shook her head in disbelief as she looked away. His smile eased as he watched her. "I don't like not knowing what's happening around my team," he finally said. "Lack of information is what ends up getting us killed in the end. Not the guns."

"Well, M-16s certainly do help."

"They do. But Stockwell has a way of sacrificing his pawns when he's done with them. It might be beneficial to keep track of exactly who the pawns are, if only to make sure that I haven't yet become one myself."

She stared at him, saying nothing. It was nearly impossible to gauge her reaction to that - if she had one at all. She'd spent a very long time masking those emotional reactions.

"How about you?" he finally asked with a smile.

She shrugged dismissively. "Stockwell is a name to me, nothing more. I know Murdock got all bent out of shape when I mentioned him, but I really couldn't care less about him."

"You think that's wise?"

"He seems very powerful, and I'm not an idiot, but I'm not afraid of him the way you guys are, if that's what you're asking. What's done is done. I suppose I should thank him for bringing me back, but that's all the feeling I have towards him."

"He'll be counting on that, you know."

"Counting on what?"

"That you should thank him."

She raised a brow, questioningly.

"There's a price that comes with that freedom, Bev. And I'm not so sure you'll want to pay it in the end. I'm not sure that I even do. You're in his debt, and he won't let you forget it."

She laughed, indignant. "In his debt? The bastard did nothing to protect me when Travis sent someone to kill me. I don't owe him a damn thing."

"He won't think that way." Face smiled, satisfied he'd finally stirred up some honest emotion in her. "You're basically his property now, and he'll use you any way he wants. So, in the end, you can tell me if you still think you should thank him."

She rolled her eyes. "He can go fuck himself."

Face smiled. In other words, she didn't know what to say to that. He hesitated for a moment, considering how hard he wanted to press her. He couldn't see the fear in her eyes yet. But it was coming. It was there, hidden underneath all the calm. As she lost her calm, it would bubble up to the surface.

"Think about it, Bev. You're going down to Texas to settle a score with a couple of gun runners you pissed off when you killed their boss. But they're not the ones who went all the way to India to bring you back. Where is it you think you're going to hide from Stockwell after you deal with this mess in Texas?"

"I don't have to hide from him," she shot back. Her anger was building. He could hear the tension in her tone and see it in her posture. "He didn't _force _me to come here. He gave me the option, and I took it."

"And if I had to guess, just knowing the guy, I'd say he didn't give you the option of going back to India after the fact."

"He wants me around in case he needs me. But once the operation is shut down, he's not going to need me anymore."

"Are you sure about that?"

She stared at Face for a long moment, as if he'd asked the question in a foreign language. "What the hell else would he want with me?"

"That's a very good question, and one I'd love to answer. But I was hoping you could tell me."

"You've known the man a lot longer than I have. And you're the one who seems to think there's even a question _to _answer."

Face kept his smooth smile in place. "I'm guessing he knew you'd suck Murdock in once you were next door. And, with your past, he knew it was only a matter of time before trouble found you, or you found it. I don't know _why _he wanted Murdock involved in all this, but I'd say it's a pretty good bet he did."

"Look." Beverly stood and paced to the trash, dropping her container inside and turning back to him with arms crossed loosely. "This guy said he brought me back to shut down the operation. He lied. I get that. I don't know what he wanted with me and, frankly, I don't care. I'm going down to Texas to take care of this issue, and I'm either going to succeed or I'm going to end up dead, one of the two. You seem to have some preference that I don't end up dead. Why? I don't know. And I don't care. Either way, when this is over, you can tell your boss to get bent. I have no intention of going back to Virginia."

There fear was there, but it was so mixed with anger, it was impossible to call it out. It wasn't even fear, as such, but more of a reasonable concern. In either case, a true sociopath she was not. She knew when she was vulnerable, and she knew she was vulnerable right now, even if she was too stubborn to admit it.

"I hear Florida is a nice place to settle down. Maybe you should check it out."

"Florida's not my home," she said curtly. "Texas is."

Face leaned forward in his chair but didn't rise. He narrowed his gaze, but kept his light lipped smile in place. There was no way in hell she was going to stay in Texas. Regardless of what Stockwell wanted, he, personally, wasn't going to leave Beverly to toy with whatever remnants were left of the operation when they were done with it. Especially if all of the speculation on her involvement in the operation held any weight. That would just be causing a whole new set of problems that he had no intention of leaving to deal with later.

"That is too bad, since Stockwell is going to know right where to find you then when he comes looking. And he _will _come looking, I'm sure. And the people he sends won't care as much for your safety as I do."

She frowned. "Murdock has said over and over again that Stockwell has no interest in guns. You agree with that or you wouldn't be trying to figure out what he wants with me. Maybe I wore out my usefulness to him before I even got here and that's why he threw me to the wolves and didn't even care when they tried to kill me."

"If that's true, then why did Richard show up at the airport to stop you from leaving?"

She set her jaw, shoulders still back and posture straight. She didn't have an answer to that. Face reached for his orange juice and slowly drained the container. With a smile, he tossed it into the trash from his seat.

"I'll give you the fact that Stockwell doesn't have any interest in guns," he said nonchalantly. "But he also hates loose ends. And he leaves very few behind. Whatever he wanted with you, he still wants it. Otherwise, he would've dismissed you and, for that matter, told you how to proceed."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Take it for what you will." He smiled politely at her again. "Stay in Texas if you'd like, but you're going to have to keep glancing over your shoulder, waiting for him to show up again."

"I'll keep it in mind."

From her confident smirk, it was clear that she had no concept of the kind of danger Stockwell posed. No surprise - few people would. But at least there was no indication that she was on the wrong side of the "us and them" line. She was naive - maybe even downright stupid, as time would tell - but she wasn't dangerous. Anything that Suzanne and Agent Richard had observed about her was surface level. Face would get underneath that. Then, if he still felt it necessary, he would find out what made her tick.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Frankie was the first one off the plane. Face followed. Bev took her time, raising a brow at Murdock as he stepped out of the cockpit, shut door, pocketed the keys, then ran a loving hand over the shiny aluminum skin of the plane.

"You're a beautiful baby," he murmured softly. "Wait right here for me, okay? When I come back, I promise we gon' have fun. You show me the sky and I'll show you what you can do."

Beverly stood still and waited for him to finish talking to his plane. Had to be a pilot thing. Then she kept stride with him as he walked across the tarmac. Face was looking around, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"I would suggest a motel on the north end if you want to be away from the action," she said. "If Travis took over things, and I suspect he did, I can almost guarantee you he'll be running the whole operation out of his club on the south side."

"How many people are we talking about here, in this little operation?" Face asked.

Bev set her hands comfortably on her hips. "Well, when I left, the local organization - the ones who stayed right here in San Antonio - was thirteen."

"Oh, that's not so bad," Murdock said with a smile.

"That doesn't include the bodyguards, the paid employees in the shipping companies and the airports, the employees at the clubs - Travis owned one, Andre owned two more so he may well have taken those over, too - or the people who actually carry the guns over the border, the suppliers, the buyers and the representatives for any of those. Or the cops on the payroll."

Murdock stood off to her right, rocking on the balls of his feet. Even with his eyes hidden behind his aviator sunglasses, Bev could feel the adrenaline coming off him. It was almost like a contact high. He seemed free, but keyed up - ready to take on anything. Like he didn't have a care in the world.

Hopefully, he didn't get himself shot while he was down here. She had to admit, she'd feel a little guilty about that.

"Can you give us a guess at the total number?" Face asked.

"Yeah, we've gotta give some kind of headcount to the caterers," Murdock added. "'Cause were planning a big ol' party for them."

She laughed at that. "Somehow I don't think you'd like the thank you gifts."

"The look on their faces will be its own reward."

"Bev," Face said. "The number?"

She shrugged. "Anywhere from fifty to five hundred, depending on what's going on in any given month."

"I'm going to need a list of those thirteen names," Face said, starting slowly away from the hangar. "And contact information for anybody associated with this operation that you can remember."

*X*X*X*

A quick check of county records only took a smile from Face and a few hours' time. Travis was one of four still remaining from the original thirteen - the rest were dead or in jail. He was right where Bev said he'd be, at the "usual table" in the strip club. And he was easy to pick out.

Face glanced around just long enough to find the exits, the bouncers, and Frankie already in place, seated at the bar. Then, adjusting his sleeves, he wandered casually over to the table. He smiled as he glanced first at the two men on the one side - they were probably business associates, but he couldn't tell for sure - then at the bodyguards who immediately stepped up to meet him. Face smiled, and kept his hands where they could see them. He wasn't there to try anything.

"Mr. Monivar?" His tone was exceedingly polite, but absolutely direct. As was the fact that he was standing right beside Travis' table.

The man flicked his glance toward him, away from the nearly-naked woman who was now upside down on the pole a few feet away. There was clearly no debate over which was more interesting to him. When he finally spoke, after a swallow of vodka, he didn't bother looking at Face again.

"I don't know you."

Face's smile remained firmly in place. "No, you don't. But I have a business matter to discuss with you."

"Fuck off."

"It's about Beverly."

His hand was half way to his glass when Face said the name. Immediately, he had the man's attention. Eyes narrowed, he spoke to the bodyguards. "Check him out."

Face smiled. Travis hadn't survived this long by being careless. But neither had Face. "You're going to find two guns," he said calmly, putting his arms up a little, to the sides. "One is a revolver in a shoulder holster and the other is a .38 tucked into the back of my pants. You're welcome to take them, but I expect them back."

The guards moved quickly and efficiently, and found exactly what Face said they would find. Travis sat up a little straighter, and Face smiled. "I'm just here to talk."

Travis stared at him for a moment, then jerked his head to the guards who were still standing, dismissing him. A slight nod to the men across the table dismissed them as well. Face was glad he didn't need to specify that he wanted to talk alone.

"I'm sure you understand my need for caution," Travis said, still eyeing him suspiciously. "That bitch killed my brother. Don't figure it would break her heart to kill me, too."

Face nodded and smiled. "I understand."

Travis gestured to the chair on his right. "Have a seat."

Face sat down calmly, adjusting his jacket. "Now. Before we discuss any of this, I feel it's only fair to let you know right up front that the reason I let your two lackeys take my guns is the same reason I was standing very strategically beside this table. And that is because you can't see it, but there are four guns pointed straight at your head if you decide not to play nice."

Travis' eyes narrowed. He was looking for a bluff, but he wouldn't see it. Not only did Face know he was a damn good liar, he actually wasn't bluffing this time. At least, not entirely. There was only one gun. But the difference between one bullet and four wasn't really significant when it was going in his head.

"Anyone shoots a gun in here, it's suicide," Travis threatened. "My men will be all over them and you before you can blink."

"Well, that ends very unpleasantly for both of us. So how about we avoid that scenario, hmm?"

Travis glared. The impression Face had made so far had clearly been less than favorable, but that was okay. At the moment, he didn't really have time to make friends. If he had, he probably would've approached this whole situation very differently.

"Who the hell are you?" Travis demanded.

"I am a negotiator. You can call me Tom."

"Who do you work for?"

"I'm self-employed, but I'm here on behalf of Ms. Richards. And before you jump to any conclusions, this is something of a charity case for me so money is not a factor here. Neither is code of conduct, good business practice, reputation, or foreign policies. I don't frankly give a damn about any of that. So with that in mind, I want to know what you see as the possible outcomes of this tragedy involving Beverly Richards."

The cold, angry response was instantaneous. "There is only _one _outcome for Beverly."

Face smiled as he sat back, perfectly at ease. "Well, that's very unfortunate. Because if you're not willing to negotiate, I really have no reason to be here and you're right back to where you started."

Travis moved slowly as he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table. Face watched him quietly, smile in place as he lit a smoke and took a deep drag. He was debating, considering his options. Face gave him plenty of time to think.

"What did you have in mind, Tom?"

Face answered simply. "You leave Beverly Richards alone and in return you get my assurance that she does not go to the feds."

Travis laughed, exaggerated and loud. Face chuckled right along with him for a few moments, until Travis finally pulled it together and wiped his eyes. "That's really funny, Tom. I thought you were a negotiator, not a comedian."

Face was still smiling, still clearly enjoying himself when he answered. "No, actually," he chuckled again, "I'm not kidding. Because, you see, I'm going to make your life a living hell until we have come to an agreement on this point. And if it takes too long, you might just be looking at losing your very profitable business. That would just be a damn shame."

Travis laughed again. A bitter, ironic, laugh that ended when he took another drag. Exhaling and blowing out a stream of smoke, he pointed at Face with his cigarette. "You are welcome to try, Tom. But I doubt you'll be able to cause me more trouble, or cost me any more business than that bitch already has."

Face smiled. "Oh, don't underestimate me. I'm very good at it."

"So is she."

"Yes, I've heard."

Travis picked up his glass of vodka and drained it in one shot. Looking again at Face, his eyes were full of anger. "I don't know why you're working for her Tom."

"I'm not," Face clarified. "As I said, I'm self-employed. This is a charity case."

"She doesn't need your charity. Bitch is a killer. Don't let those long legs and ladylike manners fool you. She won't hesitate to trample you or anyone else who stands in her way."

Face nodded impassively. "I believe that, actually. But it doesn't change anything." He shifted, getting ready to leave. "Just to be clear, you're _not _willing to negotiate, right? Because I'd hate to misunderstand you."

"I want my guns, Tom." Travis' voice was dead cold.

"I understand you have a lot of guns. Which ones are you referring to?"

He took another pull from his cigarette and poured himself another glass of Vodka. "Nothing's gonna be worked out until she tells me where she hid them." Taking one last drag, he stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray. "I'm sure you understand why _that _point can't be negotiated."

Hid them? Suddenly, there was a new piece in the puzzle that he hadn't known was missing. He fell back on the instinct to say as little as possible until he understood, and merely studied Travis quizzically, waiting for more.

Travis caught the confusion, and smirked. "Oh, did the lovely and oh-so-delicate Beverly forget to mention that she is sitting on a large and very valuable shipment of weapons?"

Face said nothing. Better to say nothing and just let him talk.

Travis took a drink before he continued. "It's no fun being played for a fool is it? Tell you what, you bring her to me and I'll give you a one hundred thousand dollar 'bounty' to help ease the pain of being used."

Face smiled calmly, but other than that, his expression was purely impassive. "How about you tell me what you're talking about and I'll see what I can do."

*X*X*X*

"Well, it looks like we came at the right time." Beverly watched through the binoculars as the man stepped out of the car and slowly walked across the dock. "Of course, Travis always was a stickler for schedule. He and Andre used to argue about it all the time."

"Those just better be the right boats," Murdock said. "I didn't see any guns in there. Or anything out of the ordinary."

"Oh, trust me, they're the right boats." Her certainty left no room for question. "Why hide them? Even I wouldn't have thought to blow up the boats when they're _empty_."

"It's not about making a big explosion," Murdock said with a smile, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "It's about crippling the operation."

"Well, I don't know about crippling. But it'll certainly hurt enough to piss them off."

She handed him the binoculars, and he raised them to survey the scene again. "Where do these boats go? They're not very big."

"These guys are just runners. Half the time they don't even know what's in those boxes they're carrying back. Some of them think they're in a legitimate business. Drive a shipment out to Miami, pick up an empty boat, drive it back."

"Why Miami?"

"Because you can get a freighter to anywhere out of Miami." She paused. "Well, almost anywhere. Unless they need to go west. In which case they fly them to LA."

Through the binoculars, Murdock watched as keys to the boat were exchanged for an envelope. "What's in the envelope?"

"Money. Even the ones who think they're legit don't mind being paid in cash."

The two men went their separate ways, and Murdock watched the man from the car head into the newly-returned boat. "You know who that is?"

"I know his role," Bev said. "I don't know his name. He's new. At least since I've been here."

Murdock set the binoculars down in his lap. If Bev was right, they just had to wait for him to inspect the boat - he wouldn't find the little charge Murdock had affixed to the boat's fuel line - and get back off of it. Then it and all its buddies could go boom. With a smile, he glanced down at the black transmitter. Just knowing that he was about to cause havoc and mayhem for some very bad men filled him with a sense of pride and, oddly enough, a hint of sadness. Hannibal was going to be sorry he missed this.

"How do you think Face's 'negotiation' is going?"

The question made him chuckle. "Monty Hall couldn't out-negotiate Face."

Bev watched him for a long moment, curious. "Travis isn't the type to negotiate."

Murdock shrugged. "It's not really a negotiation. We're just putting them on notice that all the calamity that is about to befall them is due to the fact they won't leave you alone."

She smiled at that, and kicked off her sandals before she put her feet on the dash and leaned the seat back a bit.

"You know, it's funny," she sighed comfortably.

"What is?"

"I spent a lot of time running. It never even occurred to me to come here and blow up their boats. It's sort of like... kicking the hornet's nest. I like it."

With a grin, Murdock took his eyes off the boat just long enough to grab a package of Twinkies. Looking back to the boat, he could see the man was still on it. Man, he was slow. Murdock was dying to flip the switch and start the show.

"Chaos and confusion - two great things that go great together."

She laughed softly, then sighed. "Oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he hears about it."

"I'm thinking he's going to be having a really, really bad day."

"Good."

Murdock saw the shadows moved on the boat, sitting up straighter he watched as the man finally finish with his inspection. As he stepped back off onto the dock and began a casual stroll back to his car, Bev sat up straighter.

"Showtime."

Tossing aside the now-empty Twinkie wrapper, he picked up the transmitter. His finger hovered over the switch for a few seconds before he looked at Bev. With a wicked, contagious grin, he held it up.

"Hey, Bev, wanna blow something up?"

Her grin broadened, and she reached toward him, letting him hold the box while she deliberately pushed the little button with her index finger.

The explosion was instant, and spectacular. On either side of the man, twelve boats all tuned to the same frequency suddenly erupted into flames, splashing water and throwing flames towards the oil-soaked rubbish that Bev had been so carefully arranging on the dock while Murdock had been setting up the detonators. They torched, and the fire spread rapidly, outlining the pattern on the dock.

The man, who had hit the dock before the explosion had even had a chance to shake it, scrambled back to his feet just in time to see her message - 'Your friend, Tom' - burning in big, fiery letters in front of him. As he spun around frantically, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, Bev laughed gleefully, and put a hand up for Murdock to high five.

"_Nice_, Murdock!"

Laughing out loud, Murdock hit her hand, then pulled the car away from the curb. It was things like this that made him love everything about this job.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"You failed to mention a large and very valuable shipment of weapons, Beverly."

Bev watched Face with a cold look, saying nothing, arms folded. Caught in the sticky situation, she had resorted to stonewalling her accusers rather than trying to talk her way out of it. In a way, that was good. At least she wasn't digging the hole deeper.

"Andre was sitting on a big shipment when he died," he continued. "Three million dollars worth of guns. Where are they?"

"What do you think?" she challenged. "That I put them in my pocket?"

"Travis seems to think that you know where they are."

"If I did, I wouldn't give them to him."

"Is that a hypothetical 'if'?" Murdock asked flatly. "Or is that an 'I'm not admitting to anything' if'?"

"Both," she snapped back at him. "Either. Take your pick."

"Where are the guns, Bev?" Face demanded.

She looked back at him again. "The last deal Andre did, the buyers didn't have the money ready and he said he'd hold it for a week. That's the last thing I know about. It was still in process when I left. Ricardo would've taken care of it."

"Who's Ricardo?" Frankie asked.

"Andre's best friend. Ricardo was officially the second in command."

"Not Travis?"

"No. And that was my doing. Travis hated me and the last thing I wanted was to answer to him."

"Ricardo disappeared a day after Andre died," Face said. "Travis' opinion is that you killed him."

"Travis can think whatever he wants."

"He makes a very convincing argument, Bev. And either way, it doesn't change anything. I want to know where the guns were when Andre died."

Bev's jaw tightened, and she glared at the floor in silence for a long moment before finally answering. "What use would I have for those guns?"

"Well, Travis seemed to think you were going to use them as a bargaining chip with the police when they nailed you on Andre's murder. But I don't think so. I think you wanted those guns at your disposal because you always had it in the back of your mind that someday, you were going to take over the operation."

She was glaring daggers at the floor. "You're wrong."

But he knew by the flinch - however slight - that he'd hit on part of it, if not all. Now he just needed to determine what part, and pry the rest of the truth out of her.

"I'm going to assume that you really thought we were so stupid, we'd never figure out your ultimate goal here. But the one thing that doesn't make sense is that if that's the case, you had it planned from day one. And if you wanted to take over the operation, why did you ever run to India in the first place? Why not kill Travis too and just step right up?"

"You're wrong," she said again, aiming her glare at him. "I never planned to take over the operation."

"Then why keep the guns?"

Face waited patiently for an answer as she glared at him. They could battle wills on who would speak first from now 'til kingdom come, for all he cared. She would lose.

"I couldn't get to Travis," she finally said. "I knew I wouldn't be able to. Not if I wanted to live through it. He's too smart and too cautious and he hated me."

"So you killed Ricardo to put Travis in charge, then hid the guns so the buyers would come after him," Murdock said.

"Ricardo was a pushover," Bev snapped, turning her glare toward him. "If I hadn't killed him, Travis would have. And he'd find out where the guns were in the meantime."

"So you were sitting in India waiting for what, exactly? News of his death?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't in India. I was on a beach in Hawaii, living very comfortably in a rather large house that I still own."

Face was shocked, more by the sudden honesty than the fact of what she'd actually said. "That's quite a discrepancy," he said.

"When I left, I never had any intention of coming back for those guns."

"When you left," Face repeated. "But now it's different?"

"Now, Travis tried to kill me. And make no mistake, I always wanted to see him six feet in a hole. I want to stand on his grave and laugh. Whatever thoughts or plans I made for those guns have always been secondary to that."

"Alright, then the question still stands," Murdock said. "What were you waiting for in _Hawaii_?"

"I wasn't waiting for _anything_," she shot back at him. "I was living my life. Until Agent Richard - or whoever he was - showed up and told me the operation was still alive and well, I figured Travis was long gone."

"So why stop living your life?" Face challenged. "I was under the impression you came here willingly and it was only when you tried to leave that they threatened you with the murder charge."

"I wanted him dead. And I was bored as hell with sitting on the beach." Bev's glare was fixed on the floor again. "It seemed like a good deal. I could find out everything they knew about him, and I had every intention of actually working with them to shut him down. It wouldn't be hard to rebuild what remained once he was gone. Not with three million dollars worth of guns, all his former clients, and a working knowledge of the industry at my disposal."

"Sounds like you had this pretty well planned out," Face said. "At least until Travis came knocking at your door."

"I still don't understand how he was able to find me so quickly. But once he knew, there was no sense in hiding and waiting on Richard to get his act together." She looked at Murdock. "I would've gone straight down to San Antonio if you hadn't tried to come with me. Since you did, I knew I'd have to detour and get rid of you."

"Except that Richard met you at the airport."  
She shrugged. "I knew he had that warrant. It was just another one of the things I had to deal with."

"And just how did you intend to deal with it?"

"If you hadn't been there, I would've just driven down to San Antonio."

"So why didn't you?" Face asked coldly. "You may not have asked for our help, but if you had a plan, you could've driven off to San Antonio instead of going to that cafe."

Her eyes were empty as she looked back at him. "I did have a plan. But my chances of getting close to Travis are substantially higher with help. And I'm not stupid."

Face watched her, saying nothing. In fact, it was Frankie who finally spoke up. "Boy, kinda makes you think she and Stockwell deserve each other. That's as convoluted as some of the stuff he comes up with."

Murdock looked at Face. For a long moment, neither spoke. When Face was sure Murdock had nothing to add, he turned and looked back at Beverly. "Our reason for being here doesn't change because you thought you could use us to advance your gun running career," he said flatly. "But let me make something very clear to you. You called this benevolent charity. Make no mistake, I have an angle, too. And if it serves my angle better to hand you over to Travis, you just made that perfectly acceptable in my book."

She glared back at him, but said nothing as he turned his attention briefly to Frankie and Murdock. "Nobody takes their eyes off her. We've just made ourselves targets for Travis, and I'll be damned if I want her wandering off to strike a deal with him. And in the meantime," he turned back to her, "you _will _show us where those guns are."

Bev stared back at him. Then, finally, she put her hands on her hips. "Fine. Let's go."

*X*X*X*

"Park anywhere." Beverly's voice was tense as she glanced up and down the street. "We're going to that junkyard right there."

"You kept three million dollars worth of guns in a junkyard?" Frankie asked incredulously.

"Andre did. In a storage unit inside the junkyard. Ricardo and I were the only people who knew about it."

"Who owns the junkyard?" Face asked, pulling the rental car around the corner and putting it into park at the side of the road.

"Used to be owned by a man named Alberto Martinez. Probably still is." Beverly unfastened her seatbelt and stepping out of the car. Murdock was a step behind, shoving his hands into his pockets as he moved between Bev and Face. "He knew nothing about the operation. Andre paid him cash up front, a year at a time, to use the storage unit. Andre rarely needed it, but he always kept it available."

"Why not use it?"

She shrugged. "Never had to. This line of work is all about speed and efficiency. Nobody wants to _sit _on the guns. Get them in, clean them up, move them out."

"If no one was around to pay the storage fee," Murdock considered quietly, "and word was out that Andre was dead, what would have stopped Alberto from cleaning out the storage area?"

"I paid him." Her answer was simple. "And it wasn't like he had a line of people waiting to rent it."

"That's not much of a guarantee," Frankie said.

"What do you want me to say?" She stared back at him, her voice tense, posture straight. "I can't guarantee that the guns are there. But if Travis doesn't have him and he thinks that I still do, the cops don't have them. Because it sure as hell would've made the news. So that means they're there."

He put up his hands, not looking for an argument.

"Frankie, clear the right perimeter," Face ordered. "I'll clear the left. Murdock, stay with Bev and go to the front. We'll meet there."

Face didn't bother waiting to see if they followed his instructions; he knew they would. Murdock withdrew his pistol, watching Bev as she grabbed her flashlight out of the car and started for the entrance.

As they got to the front gate, chained together and padlocked, she didn't slow. She pulled the two parts of the gate apart, ducked down, and writhed her way through the narrow opening before he even had a chance to grab her. She'd done this before. The chain was just loose enough to let her slip through, and she knew it without testing it.

"Bev! Wait!"

She stopped, and stared at him for a moment before coming back against the fence. Any sense of relief he felt at her listening to him was buried under the alert tension and awareness of his surroundings. Now was the time to be watchful, not relieved.

He went to work on the lock; no way the three of them were going to get through when she barely could. By the time Face and Frankie were beside him again, he had it open.

"No sign of any guards or dogs," Face said quietly.

"Or security of any kind," Frankie added. "Tell me again, why was this a good place to keep a big shipment of guns?"

Murdock unthreaded the chain carefully, making as little noise as possible. "Ask that again if they're still here," he muttered under his breath.

Bev was waiting impatiently just inside the gate. She nodded in the general direction of the stacks of cars, one on top of the other, as Murdock carefully pulled the opening closed again.

"Storage unit is in the back."

Guns out, they followed her. All except for Face, who moved ahead, positioning himself next to her. Murdock knew that he would have preferred to be ahead of her, but without being certain where they were going, it was better to let her lead.

"It's just this partitioned building that Andre fixed up in return for renting out the half of it," she said quietly. "I mean, in addition to paying for it, which he did. Alberto used to have a lot of problems with kids coming in here and doing initiations and stuff and once Andre moved in, he made sure that stopped. So they had a really good relationship."

She was comfortable, relaxed. But then, that didn't necessarily mean anything. It seemed to be her baseline - or at least the one she made them all think she had. Murdock was far more aware of his surroundings, all senses alert for any sign of danger. The only signs of life in the dark junkyard was the occasional scrabbling of rats. It was hard to tell the difference between them and the stray cats that were stalking mice and smaller rodents. Murdock gave a slight grimace as one of the rats scurried away, just a few inches from his foot. He'd had his fill of rats in Vietnam. He didn't even like thinking about them.

The building really wasn't much to look at. It was dilapidated and old with corrugated tin sides and roof. Murdock had seen hootches that looked a lot more stable. Hard to believe that someone would keep a very large shipment of weapons in a building like that. Of course, that could be part of the reason why no one had found it. If, in fact, it was really there.

As Bev's flashlight beam ran over the front of the building, Face went one way and gestured for Frankie to go around the other. Murdock stayed close to Bev. The combination lock was still there, intact. She held her flashlight under her chin as she reached for it. Her hands were steady, and she remembered the combination on the first try. She dropped it into her pocket as she pulled the bar open, and lifted the door just as Frankie and Face returned to the front.

Inside, the small room had only a single stack of plain brown boxes, ceiling high, against the back plywood wall. Murdock frowned. Quality over quantity? "Uh, Bev? Just what type of guns are supposed to be in those boxes?"

She didn't seem surprised, either by the dimensions (because the room was certainly smaller than Murdock had expected) or its lack of contents. She held the metal door up as she stepped inside. "This door won't stay open on its own," she mumbled under her breath as she waited for them to follow.

Murdock tucked his gun away, then took over the job of doorman. Once they were all inside, he lowered the door slowly and carefully closed behind Frankie, plunging them into total darkness except for Bev's flashlight.

Bev reached to the wall - there was a switch there. She knew right where it was. The overhead light flickered a few times before coming on. Murdock glanced up at it, surprised it still worked, then at the boxes. They were covered in dust. Nobody had been here in a very long time.

"That's it?" Frankie asked in disbelief.

Without a word, she stepped up to the stack of boxes, pushing them away from the wall and revealing a cut out door in the plywood. "We weren't really trying to fool anyone with the plywood," she said, almost to herself. She was trying to keep the stack from toppling over as she moved it, and Face tucked his pistol into the front of his pants before he stepped up to help her.

"We set it up this way just so we could - _Wait_!" She cut off so suddenly and yelled so loud, it made all of them jump. Frankie froze in his tracks, just before stepping through the opening she'd uncovered. The unsteady tower of boxes toppled, while her cry was still echoing in the room, and hit the floor with a loud rattle, spilling Styrofoam popcorn everywhere. The sudden noise - while not that deafening - seemed amplified by the fact it had been so quiet up until then.

Frankie laughed tightly. "Heh. You're gonna tell me this doorway here is booby trapped, aren't you." It wasn't really a question.

Bev was standing still, her hand over her chest and eyes closed, catching her breath. Face had his pistol back in hand on instinct alone, but there was clearly no cause to use it. As the silence settled, there was a collective sigh of relief. It was a damn good thing that all this noise was going on in a shed in an abandoned junkyard.

"As I was saying," Bev continued quietly, her voice calm. She stepped past Frankie, through the dark opening in a weird sort of contortionist move. One foot way up, ducking down, hopping and skipping to get her other leg through. "We put the plywood wall here so we could appropriately secure it," she finally finished, from the other side of the wall. "We needed a small opening for a trip wire attached to a shotgun. But we didn't want the body laying out in the open if anyone should trip it, so we cut the pulley system that keeps that door open and," some rattling - a lock being thrown? - and the wall slowly swung out, towards them, "rigged this setup so that they'd be inside the first room with the exterior door shut if they tripped the wire."

Bev stood with one hand on the plywood wall/door, a shotgun and mess of fishing line in her other hand. Behind her were stacks and stacks of gray plastic boxes, and a number of weapons that didn't fit into them. The room on the other side of the plywood was at least fifteen feet in length, ten feet wide. And though it was shielded from the light by the top part of the plywood wall, the contents were clearly visible. Guns. Weapons. Thousandsof them.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Murdock stared, listening to Frankie's low whistle. He hadn't seen this many guns since the last time he had gone to the armory in Vietnam. Jesus Christ, there was enough firepower in this room to carry on several small wars.

"Hard to believe Stockwell _wouldn't _be interested in this," Murdock thought out loud.

"Forget Stockwell," Frankie said in awe. "Can you see the look on Hannibal's face? Like a kid on Christmas morning!"

Face watched Beverly closely as she set the shotgun against the wall, pressing back and letting let them pass. Her eyes were closed. She wasn't looking at them, or the guns. He kept an eye on her as he ran his hand lightly over one of the boxes.

"Any other booby traps we should know about?"

"No."

Face opened one of the boxes and peered inside. Murdock's attention was on Bev as she finally opened her eyes and looked around the room. Suddenly, her calm and dispassionate facade, that cold and "untouchable" routine, was gone. Instead, something very different - something very dark and passionate - had come over her.

Murdock's eyes widened slightly as he saw it. It was a shadow - so real, so visible, it made her eyes change color. It was as if she had suddenly morphed into something not quite human in front of him, and it made him shake his head quickly to clear it. That was an odd thought. Where the hell had that come from? If he didn't know better, he'd say he was crazy...

She stood still, back straight, eyes moving slowly over the weapons, not lingering on Face as he opened one of the boxes and whistled at the contents. Not lingering on anything until they locked on a small box in the corner. She stared at it for a moment, then looked away. But it was clearly where she was headed as she stepped forward.

Murdock followed without thinking, watching her and waiting to catch another glimpse of that unfamiliar thing in her eyes. He wasn't sure why. He wasn't sure what it was, why it was so enticing. It had nothing to do with her, personally. Her admission to Face had made her far more "them" than "us." But that thing in her eyes - dark and almost frightening in its intensity - drew him. It called to something in him.

It wasn't entirely unfamiliar, he realized. He'd seen it before. He'd caught glimpses of it in the team - in those rare moments when they could do damn near anything and feel no remorse. But it wasn't evil; it was more primal than that. There was no intent behind it - just pure, unadulterated, survival instinct. But why did he see it here and now? Why so clearly? And why in the eyes of a woman who was in no real danger right now. At least, not any more than she'd been in a few minutes ago.

He could feel the cold settle deep inside of him as he followed her slowly. There was no thought, no words. He just watched as her fingers ran so lightly over the boxes, she barely disturbed the dust. She paused at one that was already opened, and reached her hand inside. She paused there, eyes sliding closed, then slowly withdrew the assault rifle inside. She knew how to hold it. She knew how to check it. She was as competent with it as any soldier he had served with. She knew how to use it, and she understood the power that came with wielding it.

She kept it over her shoulder by the strap as she continued to the back of the room and pulled down the smaller box. He stood behind her with no thoughts, no internal dialogue, no vivid imagination. Just detachment and silence as he waited to see if she would open the box that had drawn out her shadows.

As she pulled the box down, she set it carefully on the floor and withdrew her pocket knife. She slit the top of it, and set the knife down. Inside were several of the gray plastic boxes that matched the rest of the room's contents. And on top of them, lying loose, a 9mm.

"That's the murder weapon, isn't it?" Face asked.

Murdock didn't need to ask that. He knew. He could tell by the way that her fingers ran over it lightly, almost lovingly. Without a word, she withdrew it, stood, and turned toward Face. "Yes," she answered. "And I suppose you want it."

Face smiled back. "You read my mind."

She handed it to him. The dark thing was still in her eyes as she pointed to another nearby box. "Ammunition is over there."

Murdock said nothing, felt nothing as he watched her eyes wander over the rest of the room. There was just silence in his mind, and he was glad he didn't need to speak. He didn't, he knew. Face would. In the meantime, anything he felt - or thought he felt - about seeing her cold and hard, standing among enough weapons to take out every man, woman, and child in several small nations, it would have to wait. It would have to wait until he could think again with something beyond that dark something in his chest.

Face tucked the pistol inside his jacket and cast a quick glance at Murdock before nodding to the door. "Alright, let's get out of here. Leave everything the way you found it. The FBI is going to want it intact."

Beverly stared at him for a moment, then shrugged the rifle off of her shoulder and set it aside. There was no expression on her face as she headed for the door.

*X*X*X*

"Why did you do it?" Murdock asked as Beverly sat down on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette.

"Do what?"

She didn't look at him. Sitting at the small table by the door, he watched her closely.

"We would've helped you even without all of the manipulation. You didn't have to try to play us."

She rolled her eyes. "You would've helped me do _what_? Put Travis behind bars?" She paused to drag on her cigarette and leaned forward to tap the ashes in the garbage. "Even when I was working with the FBI, that was never a consideration in my mind. I am going to kill him. And then I'm going to get my life back. New and improved, without bastards like Andre and Travis in it."

He watched her quietly, leaning on the dresser with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. That wasn't going to happen. Even if they allowed it - which they wouldn't - Stockwell's hand in this would turn her world upside down if it came to that.

She sighed as she glanced up at him. "You know, you asked me if you could trust me and I flat out told you no. I really don't understand why you're so amazed."

"I'm not amazed," he corrected. "I'm disappointed."

She chuckled at that. "Sorry I wasn't everything you'd hoped for."

"No, it's not that."

She looked at him questioningly, but didn't speak.

"I'm disappointed that you can live to be however old you are and the only thing you've found worth living for is revenge and guns."

She frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said." He shook his head slightly as he watched her. "It makes me wonder if it's because you just haven't looked or because your world really has been that empty. It must be like living in the third circle of hell to have all that anger inside of you and not be able to do anything about it."

Her frown turned to a glare. "Don't pity me. I don't need your sympathy."

He chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. You tried to use and manipulate my team. I have no sympathy for you."

"Good."

She stood and walked to the sink, extinguishing her cigarette before she threw it in the trash. Without another word, she flicked the light on the bedside table off and crawled into the bed still fully dressed with her back to him, pulling the blanket up tight around her. It was a much more guarded position than she'd taken last night, and he recognized it. It was fine with him. He had no interest in being close to her right now.

He turned off the light by the door on his way out, into the cool night air. It was raining. He could smell it and hear it pattering on the roof above him and the parking lot below. A warm, soft rain - like California's. He smiled as he leaned over the railing and tipped his head up, letting it hit his face and take away his thoughts, his stress. Just for a moment, he was _almost _free.

In the relaxing stillness, he let his mind wander. He really didn't have much sympathy for her. Her ultimate goal in all of this had been to use him and his team to kill a man and take over his gun running operation. If it wasn't so laughable, it would be infuriating. But her words were still ringing in his mind - her reason for doing all of this: She wanted Travis dead and she was bored with the beach.

Murdock knew full well what it felt like to be motivated by anger. Murder that was premeditated for two years was maybe a new level of anger than what he was used to, strictly speaking. But he had to admit, he'd entertained a few fantasies of putting a bullet in Stockwell. He knew he was capable of feeling what she felt. That wasn't the part that got him. It was the other part of it - the part that wanted to return to her gun running days simply because of boredom.

He knew what boredom felt like, too. But never in his life had he thought, "If only I could go back to Vietnam, where I was never bored." Why would she return to something that had taken so much from her? What the hell was it she saw in that life that was so damned appealing? Maybe it had something to do with that shadow that had come over her eyes when she saw the guns...

He frowned as he considered that look. Maybe it was the years of therapy at the VA that even made him acknowledge what he had seen. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it - but never so clearly and never in the eyes of a woman. He knew that thing. And he didn't like it.

It only spoke to him in his sleep, filling his dreams with images and memories of death, hard and unfeeling. War and fire. Death and destruction. He awoke with the memories of things he had done and seen fresh in his mind, and fought to push them back down. Knee deep in blood and terror, but detached and removed from the emotion of it. It's what that thing demanded. The sense of confusion lingered for hours, as Dr. Richter would say, "buffered by a residual layer of detachment." His feeling and emotions were unplugged. And eventually, the thing would recede into that dark part of his psyche that he never went to, never looked at.

What did that thing want with her?

The rain was falling harder now. He opened his eyes again and looked down into the parking lot just in time to see the grey rental car pull up, sloshing through the puddles before parking by the stairs. Face was waiting for it. Murdock hadn't even noticed him standing in the stairwell until he stepped out into the rain to meet the car. When Face was going into the rain to meet someone, it could only be one person.

Jessica left the door open as she ran the few steps toward him. Murdock could hear her squeal of surprise and delight over the sound of the rain as Face picked her right up off her feet and used the momentum from her run to spin her around before he kissed her. It was like a scene out of a movie - too picture perfect to be real. Drenched by the pouring rain and not caring in the least, madly in love with no concerns but for the safety of each other's arms. It might as well have been scripted for Hollywood.

Murdock had seen Face kiss a lot of women. But none the way he kissed her. There was no effort to it. No formula. Somehow, that fact alone made it seem almost surreal - not like Face at all. Face didn't kiss women like that. He didn't hold them just for the sake of holding them. He didn't stand in the rain without a care for his eight hundred dollar suit because he was so happy to see them that he couldn't wait for them to come to him. It seemed wrong to see Face in love. And then again, it seemed entirely right.

As Face finally withdrew and headed to the car to get her bag, she glanced up at the motel and shielded her eyes from the rain. "Hi, Murdock!"

He smiled back as he waved. "Hi, Jess. How are you?"

"Great! What are you guys doing in Texas?"

"Long story. I'm sure Face will clue you in."

Face stepped up behind her, already soaked to the bone, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and turn so red, Murdock could see it even through the sheets of grey rain. As they headed up the stairs, Jessica ran out ahead to put her arms around Murdock. He hugged her back with a genuine, relaxed smile.

"Mmm, I miss you guys," she said, clinging to him for a moment before she pulled back. "My lunch hour is so boring now."

He chuckled quietly. "I'm sure you could find some other crazy guy in that ward who'd be more than happy to keep you company."

She grinned knowingly. "Now that is just asking for trouble."

As Face approached, Jessica moved close to him again. He kissed her again, lightly, and handed her bag over as he opened the door with his free hand. "I'll be right in."

They exchanged lingering glances as she passed him with a smile and closed the door behind her. Face watched her go, then turned to Murdock.

"What?" Murdock asked, not sure why he hadn't simply followed her inside.

"You alright?"

He was a bit startled by the question. "I'm fine. Why?"

Face watched him for a moment, reading him. But even in the midst of the scrutiny, it was impossible to hide the fact that he was completely and entirely happy right now. He didn't even have to smile; it was in his eyes. And that made Murdock smile. It was good to see him happy.

"I'm fine, Face," he said again, confidently. He nodded to the door. "Go on. You deserve a night off."

"Where's Bev?"

"She's inside. Gone to bed."

Face paused beside him and looked at the door to the room Murdock shared with Bev. Murdock chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of her."

"I'm not worried." He paused, shrugging out of his jacket. He leaned on the railing as he glanced around, surveying the area. "Just still trying to figure out who's playing what game here. Ironic that between her and Stockwell, Travis' word is the one I'm trusting. He's the only one who's actually been up front with us so far."

"You think she and Stockwell are in it together?" Murdock asked, disgusted by the mere thought.

"No," Face said confidently. "It's too complicated."

Murdock raised a brow. "It's not half as complicated as setting up the arrest, trial, and conviction of three innocent men."

"Yeah, but he controlled all of that. There's too many variables here. Too many decisions she's had to make." He shook his head. "He doesn't work that way. He wants to control everything and everyone and give his pawns only one option."

Murdock couldn't have doubted that confidence from Face if he'd wanted to. He sighed as he looked away, giving Face a perfect excuse to walk away. But when he didn't leave, Murdock asked quietly, "What do you think the chances are she's got another plan brewing?"

Face smiled. "I'd say it's a fair bet."

Murdock shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on the calming sound of the rain. He didn't want to think about that.

"Don't take it personally, Murdock," Face said quietly. Murdock glanced at him. "If she wasinvolved in all this, cutthroat business and 'trust no one' is all she knows."

Murdock frowned. "I don't care how tragic her story is. If she's a threat to my team, she can burn."

He didn't even realize how aggressive his tone was until he saw Face watching him with that curious, evaluating look. It was almost the same look Bev got when she couldn't figure him out. But Face could figure him out and he knew it. He'd had plenty of years to practice, and nobody in the world knew him better.

Murdock looked away. "The last thing she needs is you to defend her. She's more than capable of doing that herself."

"She's not really a threat, Murdock. You know that, right?"

"Doesn't matter. She made a decision that she wanted to be."

Face watched him for a moment, then glanced at the door Jessica had disappeared through. With a slight smile, he clapped a hand over Murdock's shoulder. "We'll talk more later."

They wouldn't really talk later. It was just an invitation, if Murdock wanted to talk. Which he didn't. He kept the smile in place as he watched Face turn away and walk into the room. Then it fell. He didn't feel much like smiling right now. With a sigh, he turned and leaned back on the railing, letting the rain hit his face again.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"Easy, Jess."

The low, bedroom voice, barely a whisper, sent a tingle all the way down her spine as she pressed down on him, welcoming him into her warmth. There was something incredible about him, something about making love to him and the sound of his direction - guiding her to exactly what and how he wanted them both to feel. His body's response to hers, the excitement and pleasure and slow, steady pace, the soft sound of his moan and the firm hold he had on her hips... It was all perfect. And the fact that this gorgeous, sexy, sensual man was moaning for her sent chills of pleasure through her.

With both hands holding his shoulders, she let her body fall into a natural rhythm - deep and slow and building. His hands moved over her, gently caressing. The easy, relaxing pace was somehow both the most natural and the most incredible thing she'd ever felt in her life.

"Jessie..."

She watched him as he arched his back, groaning as the release took him. Feeling - seeing - him let go was unbelievably erotic. She moved with him, clenching tight, not stilling until he was spent. With one hand flat on his chest, the other went behind his neck, holding him as she leaned down and gave him a soft kiss.

"I told you to take it easy," he chastised. But there was a smile on his face and the way his hands moved over her told her he wasn't the least bit displeased with how it had turned out.

She smiled back, nuzzling him gently. "Feel good?"

"It feels incredible."

His hand moved into her hair, drawing her into a slow, deep kiss. She let it finish on its own, and slowly withdrew from him, turning to lie down beside him. His arms circled her, keeping her close as she sighed deeply.

"So I noticed there's no return flight," she whispered.

"Not yet. I'm not sure how long we're going to be here. Or how long you'd want to stay."

"You mean you don't have to send me away after a few frantic hours?"

"Frantic?" He laughed.

"Yes, usually." She smiled. "Not that I'm complaining, but I did notice that you're taking your time tonight. Usually we don't even make it to the bed."

He chuckled again at that. "That's true. At least lately."

"Whether it's because your stress level is down or because we've got more time, I wasn't sure."

"Well, it's definitely not the stress level."

"I'll take your word for it. What are you doing in Texas, anyway?"

"That's a long and convoluted story."

"Well, it's a good thing we have a lot of time."

He glanced at her, brow raised, and she smiled back.

"It's not official business," she assumed. "If it was, you wouldn't have brought me here. That means you can talk about it."

"I can. Doesn't mean I really want to."

She kissed his jaw. "Well, you're going to need a minute or two to recover before we can go another round and I want to hear about it."

He laughed quietly. "It's going to take me more than a minute or two to tell the story."

"We've got all the time in the world, remember?"

He could tell her no. She would take that answer. But she rarely got to hear anything about his life anymore. And if this was a convoluted story he could tell her, it was more than worth the time it took her to listen.

Thirty minutes into the telling, he finally trailed off with the sight of the guns in the storage unit, and the nonchalant attitude of the woman in the next room as she'd handed over a murder weapon. Jessica knew her eyes were a bit wide. She didn't try to hide that as Face turned to look at her.

"You weren't kidding when you said it was convoluted."

He smiled, and reached up a hand to run his fingers through her hair. "Murdock's not saying much about it, but I know it's bothering him. Not that he ever really trusted her, because I don't think he did. But this is the same sort of bullshit Stockwell pulls - never letting us in on the whole plan, hidden motives, trying to control everything from behind the scenes."

"Well, you did mention Stockwell has a hand in this."

"Yeah, but I don't think the two are related. The last thing Stockwell would want is to try and use someone who's just like him."

Face turned onto his back, tucking both arms under his head and staring for a moment up at the ceiling. Jess smiled as her eyes ran over him, almost involuntarily. Naked and confident and every bit as gorgeous as he knew he was. Placing a soft kiss on his throat, she moved in close and settled with her head on his chest.

"You know, it's just a feeling," he mused, "and I'd never base any kind of important decision on it. But I really don't think she was being malicious."

"She sounds pretty malicious to me."

"No, she sounds like she doesn't know how to trust." He lowered one arm to wrap around Jessica's shoulders. "There's a difference."

"How so?"

"One of them is an issue of intent. The other is necessity."

"You're saying it was _necessary_ for her to use you guys?"

"I'm saying she thought it was." He paused for a long moment. "And I know how that feels, when you really don't believe there's anyone you can trust, so you try to control everything and everyone to keep yourself safe."

"A lot of people know how it feels to not have someone you can trust. That doesn't make what she did okay."

Face tipped his head down to look at her curiously. "You know, you and Murdock both act like I'm defending her."

"You are."

"No, I'm not. What she did was wrong. I'm just saying I understand why she did it."

Jess smiled. "That's justifying it."

Face shrugged. "I don't see it that way."

"The question is..." She pulled back and propped her head up on her elbow, letting her hand rest lightly on his chest as she watched him. "She used you and your team. Anybody else who did that, you would've kicked to the curb. So what makes her different?"

"She's not a client, if that's what you're getting at."

"What difference does that make?"

"If a _client _did this, you're absolutely right. Let her deal with her own mess. But this isn't really about her. If she benefits from it, that's nice and all. But it's not why I'm doing it."

"Why are you doing it?"

"Because Stockwell had a reason for bringing her into the picture. I don't like being in the dark about it."

"You don't think it's the guns?"

"No. Don't get me wrong, I think he knows full well about the guns and I think there's enough firepower in that room to obliterate a small country or two. But that's not in and of itself enough to make him go through all this trouble. He doesn't want the guns. If he did, he could've gotten them without going through all this trouble. Besides, why would he want them? While it might be in the interest of national security for whatever country that shipment is _headed _to, that's not his problem."

"So what do you think he wanted with her?"

"I don't know." Face sighed. "But knowing what I know about her file and seeing how she orchestrated all of this, I think it probably has more to do with _her _than her guns."

"You think he wants her to work for him?"

"No."

He didn't offer any more of an explanation for that answer and she didn't ask. Instead, she let him think, watching her fingers as they traced lightly over his chest - invisible designs on soft skin. The scars there were minimal, but she knew every one by heart. She outlined them with feather-soft touches, letting the silence linger.

"There's something about her that's... unusual," he said quietly. "It's nothing I can put my finger on, but she just... reminds me of somebody. Facial expressions, tones..."

Jessica smiled. "Yourself?"

"The trust issue, yes," he granted. "That very much reminds me of myself, a long time ago."

"Is she pretty?"

He chuckled, and glanced at her with that perfect smile. "I didn't notice."

She laughed. Like hell, he didn't notice. "Good answer. But that wasn't jealousy. I was just asking."

He looked back up at the ceiling again. "Murdock thinks she is. I gotta say, it was nice to see the light in his eyes again."

"What do you mean?"

"He hasn't been quite the same since he split with Kelly."

"That was a long time ago, already."

"Yeah, I know. He's been out a couple times but Beverly was the first one that really showed possibility."

"She doesn't now?"

"Even if she wasn't intent on returning to a life of crime, he doesn't have a lot of patience for distrustful people."

"He had patience for you."

"That was a long time ago. And a very different situation. Don't get me wrong, he's got every reason to not want anything to do with her. He's not wrong for that. She crossed a line that's pretty serious and Murdock sees things very 'us and them'."

"So do you."

"Yes, but I make exceptions. He doesn't."

"She'd be an exception?"

"I'm not sure what she is, to be honest."

Face pulled one arm out from under his head, moving his hand slowly up Jessica's arm to her shoulder. She smiled at the soft, inviting touch.

"How's he taking all this?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"You don't know? Or you won't say?"

"I could speculate. Probably correctly. But if you actually want to know, you should ask him."

What Face wasn't saying spoke louder than what he was. She was quiet, letting him continue as he ran his hand up to her neck and into her hair.

"He'll never admit it, but I know he misses having a therapist to talk to."

"Well, yeah," she agreed quietly. "That makes sense. It was so much a part of his life for so long."

"Non-judgmental feedback, the ability to process things out loud..." Face stroked his fingers through her hair.

"I'm sure you do a lot of that for him."

"There's only so much you can do as a friend before you're just too close to be able to give unbiased feedback."

"So is this your way of asking me to initiate a conversation?"

Face chuckled. "I don't have a goal here, Jessie. I'm just telling you what I think."

She smiled as she leaned down and kissed his lips lightly. "I did ask."

"I'm well aware."

She kissed him again, this time letting it linger for a long moment. "I'll talk to him in the morning," she whispered against his lips. "Tonight, there's a lot of things I still want to do to you."

He laughed quietly, running his hand slowly down her entire back as he gently pulled her lower lip with his teeth.

*X*X*X*

Murdock awoke to the sound of knocking on the door. Instantly awake and alert, he checked first to make sure that Bev was still asleep - on the far opposite side of the bed - before he stood, grabbed his pistol, and walked to the door. But a quick glance out the peephole told him he didn't need the weapon.

Still fully dressed from the night before, he pulled the door open and was greeted by Jessica's smile as she leaned back on the railing. "Come on, Murdock. Coffee and donuts are on me."

He hesitated a moment, not sure how to answer. A quick glance over his shoulder at the sleeping woman and he stepped out into the morning sunlight, closing the door behind him. A quick glance at his watch and he did a double take. It was already after ten.

"Face will be out in a minute to take care of Bev," Jessica said. "He said something about talking to some old friends of hers. You and I are going to breakfast."

Murdock frowned, his mind slowly catching up to the fact that his body was awake and moving. "What friends?"

As if on cue, Face's door opened and he stepped out, still adjusting the sleeves of the shirt under his sports coat.

"What friends of Beverly's?" Murdock asked again, this time to him.

Face gave him a smile - that perfect and very pleased "just got laid" smile. "Not sure yet. She'll get to tell me that."

Still foggy, Murdock shook his head. "I should -"

"You should come with me and have breakfast," Jessica said with a smile that almost matched Face's. "Because otherwise I have to sit here in this motel room all alone and wait."

Face knocked on Frankie's door to wake him, then returned to the small gathering. "We're just going to do some information gathering, Murdock," Face explained. His tone wasn't at all dismissive, in spite of the fact that he wasn't saying much to actually answer the implied question. "She mentioned hinted at having a plan to pin Andre's murder on Travis. If that's the case, we can use that."

"Why?"

Face raised a brow. "You know a better way to shut down a very large gun smuggling operation? We give the feds an open and shut case, burn whatever resources Travis has, and hand over the guns. She's got a plan for one of those steps and I've got a plan for the other two." He smiled again, full of confidence. "You see? It all works out."

Murdock watched him for a moment, then cast a quick glance at Jessica. She was still smiling, waiting patiently for him to decide on breakfast.

"Like I said," Face repeated, "right now we're just going to get some information. Take a break for a few hours and go have breakfast. When you're done, I want you to go find any of the news reporters who were following this case. See if they can tell you anything that wasn't in the police reports."

Okay?"

Murdock hesitated for a moment more. Finally, he smiled and nodded.

"Alright. Coffee and donuts sound good."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

"I know Face thinks there was some kind of intense romance going on with me and Bev, but there really wasn't."

"Why not?" Jessica sipped her coffee, hiding her amazement at the fact that Murdock really _could _pack away a dozen donuts for breakfast without an extra pound to show for it.

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just wasn't. She was a friend."

"Do you have a lot of friends you sleep with?"

Murdock laughed. "Face is one to talk about that."

"Face isn't asking," Jess clarified. "I am. And I'm actually curious. The last time we really talked, you were still at the VA. And I know you didn't have a lot of female friends there."

He eyed her for a moment, as if determining whether or not to answer. She kept the smile in place - just the way she'd seen Face do when he was listening and analyzing. Another swig of coffee, and he glanced once more around the park from his perch on top of the picnic table.

"No, I don't have a lot of friends I sleep with," he finally answered.

"What made her different?"

He was quiet for a moment more, eyes fixed on some indiscriminate point in the dirt. "I don't know," he said. "But whatever it was, it doesn't matter now."

"Why not?"

He gave a sad smile which immediately slid from his face, as if it were too hard to hold in place. "I dunno."

She gave him a moment, a calm, and interested look but one that wasn't at all prying. He would continue. He just needed time.

"It..." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "It just kind of happened, you know? It wasn't planned, but... but it was nice. I just needed someone so I wasn't so alone, and then she was there."

He looked away again, staring off at nothing in particular. She waited, not entirely sure that he was finished.

"But it was a mistake," he finally added. "It was all just a big mistake."

"What was the mistake? Admitting that you needed someone or thinking it was her?"

He gave a soft, sad chuckle. "Can I pick all of the above?"

"Why would you say that?"

He shifted, looking for a more comfortable position on the table. "I was tired of being alone, of having too much time to think, and Bev was a nice distraction, but..."

He trailed off again, puzzled by his own emotions and how to express them. She let the silence linger for a moment, making sure he wasn't going to continue before she spoke. She didn't want to interrupt.

"You know, I haven't really had a chance to talk to you since you left the VA. It must be quite an adjustment going from a place that's so socially controlled to... this."

He fidgeted a little. "Yeah, it was. I didn't think it would be so hard - all the time to myself. But at the VA there was always someone around, even when you were alone you weren't really alone."

"Was that a bad thing or a good thing?"

"It used to get under my skin sometimes. But now I miss it." He stopped fidgeting and glanced back at her. "But I shouldn't complain. This is how normal people live, right?"

"Even so-called normal people have issues with being alone, sometimes."

"Good to know." He grinned. "I think maybe I should start taking notes or something."

She chuckled. For a while they were silent, sitting comfortably. She could see him finally relaxing. She let the process run its course, watched as he sighed deeply, and opened up more fully.

"You know, after Kelly... I'm not sure that I can handle anything more than a friend now. So yes, Bev was a friend I could sleep with. A friend I thought I could trust. And then, suddenly, I couldn't. And yeah, that hurts. Even if she was just sort of a security blanket - that thing that kept the loneliness at bay."

Jess could tell just by the faraway look in his eyes that she'd been more than a security blanket. He'd had high hopes, felt a connection. He was disappointed, even if he couldn't admit it.

"And you can't trust her because she doesn't trust you?"

"Well, I guess that's part of it. It's hard to trust someone who doesn't trust anyone." He shrugged. "But the fact was that, when I first met her, I did trust her, and I liked trusting her. It just felt right. But it was wrong. I was wrong."

Jess sipped her coffee slowly, carefully considering her words before answering. "Why do you think you trusted her? Because of her or because of you?"

"I guess because of me. Because I needed someone to trust. Someone who would be accessible."

"There's a difference between your gut telling you someone is trustworthy and needing to trust somebody so badly you overlook the fact that they're not." She lowered her eyes briefly as she finished in a whisper. "The latter is a bad way to go."

"Yeah." She could hear the sadness in his voice, even if he was trying to hide it.

Jess gave a tight smile as she looked up. "It's not a bad thing, you know. Trusting people. It can get you hurt, don't get me wrong. But sometimes people see it in you and you get to teach them how to trust."

"Like Face," he offered, without enthusiasm.

Her smile broadened. "Yes, like Face. Maybe like Bev. If you still feel something for her, you still have a choice."

He shook his head. "No. It's over. Once she got the team involved, once she tried to use them, I knew it was over. I don't know what it is, but she's different from Face. She's way more... wrong."

She nodded. "You might be right. But just to play devil's advocate, he doesn't seem to think so."

"Really?" Murdock raised a brow.

"Don't get me wrong. He swears up and down he's not defending her. And what she did _was_ wrong. But the other half of that conversation was how he understands why she did it."

"Why she did it." He repeated the words slowly, seemingly more for himself than for her. "I worry less about why she did it and more about what she's going to do next."

"That's smart."

"I don't know." He paused for a long moment. "It's just, when she held that gun..."

"What gun?"

"The gun she used to kill Andre." He paused, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words. "There was a look in her eyes that... I don't want to see that look. Not on her, not on anyone. When it came on her... it's like I knew she was capable of anything."

"We're all capable of anything. You know that."

"Yeah, but not like that. Not like that look."

"So was it just the fact that she let it show?"

He was quiet a moment, just staring at Jess, before he spoke again. "It's not just that she's capable of anything. But she is capable and _willing_. That's a big difference."

"You're capable and willing to do anything to protect your team. I have no doubt about that."

He looked away. "Yeah. I am."

"So is it the look itself that's worrisome? Or maybe what she feels it for?"

"She didn't have to come back," Murdock said with a sigh. "She could have stayed in Hawaii, but she came back. She came back because she was bored."

Jess didn't answer, giving him a moment to process what he thought that meant, and put it into words. When he did, it was frustrated. "Damn it, she wanted this! If I can help it, I don't want to look that way. I don't want to be like that, but she does. She chose it."

"Like what?"

"Detached. Like I could do anything, without remorse."

"Why? Is it the detached part? Or the do anything part?"

"It's the without remorse part. It scares me to think of Bev acting without remorse."

"It depends on what she does."

He turned and gave Jess a pained look.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't think you should trust her. But maybe part of what's scary about her is that she's nothing like Kelly, or any other woman you've ever let close to you. She could take a life just like you could and not think twice about it. And that's something you don't like seeing in yourself. You certainly don't like seeing it in her."

He looked away again and Jess smiled knowingly.

"The two of you together would probably spontaneously combust."

He chuckled. "Yeah, probably."

She let the silence linger for a moment, finishing the last of her coffee as she waited for him to continue.

"You know, I don't completely blame her for what she's done. Or who she is. I just don't want to be a part of it."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled himself to the edge of the table, dropping his lanky legs down and letting them leisurely swing as he spoke. "She said she came back because she was bored, and, to an extent, I believe that. But I wonder if she came back for another reason."

"Like what?"

"Like revenge." He paused, his legs going still. "It's easy to think that revenge will bring some comfort, and maybe, for her, it will. But not for long."

"Well, if that _is_ what she wants, how do you plan to deal with it?"

"I dunno." And that was the truth. "I guess I'd stop her. Somehow."

"Why?"

"Because..." He hesitated, pondering the question. "I should?"

Jess laughed. "It wasn't a trick question."

"She won't get want she wants with revenge, I know that."

"So you do care about her, and how happy she is at the end of all this?"

"She's broken. I can relate to that, and I do care." He glanced up at Jess. "I'm not so callous that I don't want to see what's best for her. She's dangerous, and I get that. I won't trust her - not like I did - but I don't want to see her hurt either."

"Good."

"Just call me a big softie."

Jess smiled as she reached up and put a hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. It was no more than a friendly gesture, but definitely an intimate one. "Just don't let this make you angry, okay? She sounds like she's got some problems. It's not about you."

Murdock laughed out loud. "Oh, there it is. The whole 'it's not you it's me' line. Just from a slightly different source this time is all."

Jess smiled softly, and lowered her hand over his. "Hey, it's your decision, Murdock. You can walk away or you can stick it out with her. Either way, you wouldn't be wrong."

"Well..." Murdock placed his other hand over hers and gently patted. "I'll see her through this, as best I can. But I'll be done with her after that."


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Beverly knew the girls' schedule. She knew when they'd be getting to work, and she knew what door they'd go into. She also knew that for the right price you could get the bouncer to arrange a 'date' with the girls.

"That's them," she said as they walked into the club together. "The blonde is Lola and the brunette is Sheena. There's another girl who's usually with them, but I don't see her. They usually stick together."

Face nodded, and handed a folded stack of bills to Frankie. "You want to do the honors?"

Frankie smiled, taking the money and stepping out of the passenger side of the car. As Face watched him go, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the disguised woman in the back seat.

"How well do you know these two?"

"I tried to avoid the club," Bev answered coldly. "Travis _really _wanted me on a pole. Andre didn't have a strong opinion about it one way or another. There were a number of times it got pretty ugly. There was no sense in instigating."

Face kept one eye on her as he watched Frankie talk to the bouncer at the back door.

"That still doesn't really answer my question."

"They're as scared of Travis as they should be. But everything comes with a price and I know them well enough to know what their price is."

The bouncer gave Frankie no trouble. For eight hundred dollars, the two girls were brought out from the club. As they emerged, the man counted the money and supervised the conversation while they were in range. They all knew the routine. For that kind of money they could take the girls where they wanted for several hours.

Face rolled down the car window as they came closer, smiling at the wary looks of the two girls. He wasn't sure if the distrust was because of the situation itself, or because they recognized him from the night before.

"Hello, ladies."

The blonde, Lola, was the first to answer. "You tryin' to get us killed?"

Face didn't have a chance to answer. Instead, it was Bev who answered through the open window of the back seat. "Travis won't kill you," she said. "You make him too much money."

"Beverly?" Sheena asked, clearly startled.

In the mirror, Face watched as she peeked over the top of the sunglasses. "Come on in, before he notices you're hesitating," Bev said. "We need to go someplace a little more private to talk."

*X*X*X*

Bev kept the disguise - the dark wig, fake lashes, heavy makeup - even as they stepped out of the car in the parking lot. It was probably as much for the girls' safety as hers. Willingly associating with her was death while Travis had a bounty on her head.

Inside the little cafe, back to the wall and across from the two young women, Face smiled at the waitress as he took care of coffee, all the way around. Reclining comfortably, one arm across the back of the booth - behind Bev's shoulders - and his other hand tapping absently on the table, he watched them in as non-threatening a pose as he could manage. This part of the plan, he was confident about leaving to Beverly, just to see how she orchestrated it. After all, they shared a similar interest in seeing Travis behind bars.

"I don't know how much you know about what happened with Andre," Bev started. "And why he... isn't around anymore."

"Travis said you killed him," Lola said.

"The cops said so, too," Sheena continued. "Him and Ricardo both."

"He spent weeks trying to beat information on you out of all of us."

"Still does sometimes, when the mood strikes him."

There was no anger or bitterness in that. It was just a fact of life for them. Face kept his expression impassive as he responded. "Why would he think that you know that?"

"Why does he think anything?" The disgust was clear in Lola's quiet voice. Pulling a cigarette out of her purse she continued. "He just wanted somebody to take it out on."

Face had his lighter out and across the table, with a smile, before she could find hers. She hesitated for a moment before leaning in to light the cigarette with the flame.

"Thank you."

"He figures you tried to get one of us to help," Sheena said. "Or that you told us something."

"Bitches can't keep their fat mouths shut," Lola interjected in an obvious and unflattering imitation of Travis Monivar. She shrugged as she looked at Bev. "You know how he is."

"Except I didn't talk to them," Beverly said, glancing at Face. "I didn't talk to anyone."

Face nodded. That, he believed. "So we all know what Travis thinks," Face redirected them. "What do _you_ think happened to Andre?"

The girls looked at each other, then back at Face. "Well, word on the street is Bev here stole a couple million in guns from him." Lola took a deep drag of her smoke and offered a shrug. "Judging by the way every two bit thug with an attitude has been taking shots at him and his guys, I'm going to guess you ruined his reputation, but good."

"You want my take, I'm glad he's dead. And I hope whatever you did gets Travis killed too."

Such strong words like that should have been delivered with emotion. But things like emotion and hope had apparently left Sheena a long time ago. She was a shell with empty eyes, nothing more.

Face looked up as the waitress brought their coffee back and smiled politely at her. Bev waited for her to leave again before answering.

"I did steal a lot of guns from him. But that's not going to get Travis killed. Those guns have been missing for two years and anybody who was going to take his blood as payment would've already done that. It screwed his reputation, but that's about it."  
Face took a moment to glance at Frankie. He'd been a little quieter than normal. Maybe he realized that his typical flirting would not be appreciated by these two. Either that, or he'd stayed up way too late last night watching MTV.

"Travis isn't worth much," Bev continued. "He might not like that fact, but it's probably what saved his life. Because anyone who _really_ wants those guns knows that if they kill him, they're that much further from their goal. So anyone who wants them actually wants him to find them, and they'll offer their assistance more than anything."

"People normally let that kind of thing just slide?" Frankie asked incredulously.

"Well, they might clean house after the fact. In fact, they probably would. But they need him alive right now if they want any chance in hell of getting their shipment."

"None of us give a damn about Travis," Sheena said. "He's just like Andre, except a little smarter and a lot more dangerous."

"But everybody knows when something happens to him, someone else will just replace him. They're all the same, it never going to change."

"You got away, though." There was something like awe in Sheena's voice. "And you're still breathing. We figured you left the country. Two years and no hint of where you got to."

"We thought you were living life on some sunny beach somewhere."

Bev gave a tight smile, but didn't answer. Instead, it was Frankie who spoke up again. "If this guy is such bad news, why don't you leave? I mean, even if you don't wanna change profession, there's other clubs Travis doesn't own."

Both girls looked at him as if he'd just grown a horn out of his head. "Last girl who even talked about it, Travis messed her up so bad she couldn't dance anymore," Lola said. "And she wasn't talking about it because she was just sick of being pushed around."

"Travis always did like beating on her the best. He liked the way she would cry and beg him to stop. The rest of us pretty much learned not to do that from watching her."

"He was sure she'd talked to you. She was going to leave because she was afraid he was going to kill her."

"And he damn near did. When she got out of the hospital, he put her on the street."

"She lasted two months before she slit her wrist."

Frankie's eyes widened. Clearly out of his depth, he looked back at Face and Bev.

"Listen," Bev finally said, "we want to shut down the whole operation for good. If those guns get into the hands of the authorities, it's a massive blow. But if Travis gets picked up for Andre's murder..."

"I believe that's a capital offense in the great state of Texas," Face finished for her.

"If he turns rat when he's facing lethal injection, even better."

"The feds shut down the operation, in its entirety. His clients take their business elsewhere."

The two girls looked at each other again, then at Bev, then back at him. "You're serious?" Lola finally asked.

He nodded.

A long silence, and the girls exchanged glances again. Then Sheena sat up straighter, and reached for the pack of cigarettes in front of Lola. "I think Travis killed Andre," she said, so flat and serious she almost made Face believe it.

"Me too," Lola added.

Face smiled. "I was hoping you would say that."

"But you need to realize something," Lola said. "If he even thinks we might say something like that, he'll kill us both. We're too old to be of use much longer anyways."

Face didn't put either one of them at anymore than twenty-five. But he knew how the sex trade worked. A steady influx of young, fresh girls meant that demand and revenue for the hardened pros dropped.

"We're not looking to get you killed," Bev reassured. "All we're looking for is a reason to believe it."

Another long pause. Face held his lighter out for Sheena, and she nodded her thanks as she sat back again and took a deep inhale. "A couple nights before Andre died, Travis called Lola, Angela and me to his office. He was all coked up."

"Not five minutes later, Andre comes in, yelling about his money."

"Told us to get the fuck out."

"But we knew Travis would flip if we left before he had his fun, so we waited in the outer office."

"Thing is, they yelled so loud we heard every word."  
Whether the whole thing was a lie that they were playing off of each other or it was an actual event, Face didn't know or care. He liked where it was heading, and there was no indication that either one of them were lying. Bev had said Andre and Travis had their differences. But an actual, particular event that happened right before Andre's murder? That was the kind of luck that money couldn't buy.

"Andre was yelling, 'Pigs get fat, hog's get slaughtered.' Said Travis had taken too damn much. He said if anyone finds those accounts they would give them a Columbian necktie."

"Andre was screaming at Travis about what the fuck he was thinking, being so greedy and stupid."

"Travis said he was putting money away so him and Andre could hide from the feds and the bosses when you turned on them." She nodded to Bev.

"And Andre lost it. Said you weren't the one stealing so much it was likely to get them killed. Told Travis if anyone found out, he was on his own."

Bev and Face exchanged glances, and Face smiled as he looked back across the table at them. "Andre is going to be arrested tomorrow. So, instead of going back to work, there's a hotel room for you two, under an assumed name. Stay there tonight, tomorrow morning, I'd like you to go to the police department and tell them what you know. Then I'd like you to get out of town, just in case he's released on bail or - more likely - has someone on the outside who might try to shut you up."

"There's a nice little resort in the Aruba," Beverly said. "I know the manager. I'll have it paid for both of you through next month."

"I'm sure we'll be able to work something out for your plane tickets and spending cash, as well."

The two of them were quiet, measuring them, trying to determine the validity of their offer. That was fine with him. He was telling the truth. He had nothing to hide this time."

Beverly took a sip of her coffee, then leaned back into the booth. "After you spend a month relaxing in the tropics, I will finance you both until you're on your feet in any city in the US you want to go to. Personally, I'm fond of Miami."

The two girls were both staring at her, jaws dropped. There was a solid minute of stunned silence, before they looked at each other. He could almost see them rapidly filtering the information and their options.

It was a good deal. If anyone ever found out what these two had just confessed, they were dead. If they stayed with Travis they were dead. Hiding in Aruba and a chance at a new start was the best offer they were ever going to get. The question was if they were willing to leave the hell they knew for a future they never imagined existed.

"Why?" Lola finally asked.

"It's a little complicated," Bev said, "but you'd be doing me a big favor. And, like I said, we're not looking to get you killed."

After another moment, Sheena gave a slow nod, then spoke. "If you can buy the tickets and have them waiting at the airport counter, we'll do it. But," she held up her hand, "we'll check to make sure those tickets and room are there before we leave to see the police."

Beverly smiled. "They'll be there."

"I hope so." Lola was clearly worried. "As much as we appreciate the offer; if you don't pull this off, you've just gotten us killed. So please make sure you nail the bastard to the wall, okay?"

"Just don't tell anyone - and I do mean anyone - where you're going. Understand? The two of you, and that's it."

Both girls nodded. Face slid out of the booth after her and turned to help Bev to her feet. Keeping an arm around her, he extended a hand to each of the girls. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, ladies. I trust you'll do me the courtesy of keeping this meeting between us."

"Oh, don't worry," Lola said. "If we tell anyone, we're dead."

"And it would be a damn shame to die just before vacation."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

Bev looked a bit different with dark hair. Murdock did a double take as she opened the motel room door to let him and Jessica in. Of course, the provocative outfit didn't hurt much as far as catching his eye, either.

"Find anything interesting?" Face asked, exchanging glances with Jessica although his question was clearly directed at Murdock.

"We found lots of interesting things," Murdock answered. "Ol' Travis has all the charm and personality of a kick to the groin."

Leaning back on the dresser and loosely crossing her arms, Bev gave him a dry grin. "Sounds like you found the right guy."

"We talked to the girls and they're willing to tell the police that not only did Travis and Andre not get along, they had a significant argument before Andre was killed." Face sounded casual, but there was a hint of disgust in his tone as he finished. "Turns out he was very charming and personable to them, too."

"Well that fight is going to make things a lot easier," Murdock said. "You guys must really have done something special to get those girls to talk. They got every reason to be afraid of him."

"So we hear."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Murdock's eyes drifted to Bev for a second. What he found out about Travis left him less than happy to think about what Bev's life here must have been like. He forced himself to concentrate on Face, and the mini debriefing.

"Good ol' Travis did a nine month stretch in the pokey for beating one of his dancers so bad she was in the hospital for a week. He would have done more time, but the girl refused to testify against him. Which, considering what he did to her, is understandable."

"Her name wasn't Angela, by chance, was it?" Face asked.

"As a matter of fact, it was. How'd you guess?"

"The girls talked about her."

"She slit her wrists sometime between then and now." Bev's tone was detached, but he knew just enough about her to know that didn't mean a damn thing about what she was feeling, or not feeling.

But right now what she was thinking or feeling was second to nailing this bastard before he hurt someone else.

"Other than that, I didn't get a whole lot," Murdock said. "At least, not anything we didn't already know. They've got rumors, but every sting they've tried to nail this guy with has gone belly up. And no one wants to testify against him even when they do manage to get him to trial."

"Does that pose a problem?" Jessica asked. "I mean, even if you get him arrested..."

"We're not going to leave it to testimony," Face said. "By the time they arrest him, it'll be an open and shut case."

Murdock nodded. "Is there any evidence we can get to back up what they said about the fight between the brothers Grimm?"

Bev offered him a benign smile. "Well, ultimately we are faced with the slight problem that Travis didn't kill Andre. That makes hard evidence kind of tricky to come by."  
"The testimony will be enough to get them a warrant," Face said. "When they search, they'll need to find the murder weapon."

Bev shrugged. "Open and shut. Sounds easy enough."

"Then we just have the task of crippling the operation."

The seriousness of the statement, and the full implication behind it, was not lost even though Face's tone was light. It hung in the air during the long silence that followed, and Face watched Beverly for her reaction. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting, but he was ready for anything.

After a long pause, she put her shoulders back and looked him in the eye as she took a deep breath. "The only way you're going to cripple the operation is to bankrupt it."

"That is certainly the easiest solution," Face agreed. "But it would require a reliable source of information on just how the operations finances work."

She glared briefly at him. "Even if I _wanted_ you to destroy everything I worked so hard for, my information is two years old."

"And if your system worked so efficiently as to grow this operation to its current size, I suspect Travis is still using it."

"How much money are we talking about?" Murdock asked. "We keep saying multi-millions. There's three million in guns in that storage unit. What's this whole operation worth?"

"Two years old," Bev reminded him.

"How much _was _it worth?" Face corrected.

She hesitated. "I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"It fluctuated," she said firmly. "At the point that I left, most of the finances were tied up in that storage unit, waiting on a return. It _should've _crumbled. The only reason it didn't was because Travis had been skimming so damn much, he was able to rebuild from his personal accounts."

"He must've been taking a hell of a lot."

"Well, I'm set for life," she replied. "And I wasn't greedy. Travis was. I don't think the girls are lying. I told Andre about what Travis was doing and I knew full well he'd go after him."

"Did he leave a paper trail?" Murdock asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. If there's a paper trail that backs up what the girls are saying, the feds can follow the yellow brick road."

"Right to a maximum security prison and a tiny little cell," Frankie added.

"Hopefully with a bunkmate who can be enticed by Travis's higher ups to show him the way off this mortal coil," Murdock finished.  
Bev sighed. "Look, Travis would've inherited all of the documentation when he inherited the operation. If he's got anything, it's in his safe at the club. He practically lives there. I can't imagine he'd keep it anywhere else. His personal accounts, the operation's accounts, it'll all be in there. If you guys want to sabotage it, have at it."  
Face exchanged glances with Murdock. They needed to get into Travis' office anyway. If they could get that paperwork, it would be the icing on the cake.

"Looks like I get to blow a safe," Murdock declared, rising from the bed. He draped his arm over Face's shoulder and raised his eyebrows at him. "Unless you wanna try your hand at it?"

"I have enough on my plate with trying to manage Tom," Face answered.

"Great! Got any of that plastique left, or should I get creative?"

*X*X*X*

Jessica remained still, sitting in the chair by the window with one foot curled underneath her, long after the others had left the room. Face showered, and emerged half-dressed a few minutes later, shirt open and tie hanging loose around his neck. She could see him in the window's reflection. But more than that, she could feel his eyes on her.

He didn't say a word as he fixed his collar and sleeves, then crossed to her and slid a hand into her hair, turning her towards him for a long, slow kiss. "You alright?"

She smiled and nodded.

Hand still in her hair, he tipped her head back and dropped his lower to kiss her throat. "How was your visit with Murdock?"

"Good."

"I'm glad."

He didn't pry. He smiled as he pulled away, setting one more light kiss on her lips and then sitting down on the edge of the bed and buttoning his shirt. "This should only take me a couple hours," he said. "I'll give you a call when I'm on my way if you want. We can order a pizza."

The tight smile turned more genuine, more relaxed as she looked at him. "You're not at all worried, are you?"

"About what?" he asked innocently. "Travis?"

She almost laughed. That answered her question well enough. "I guess it's just strange to see you in this role."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, this isn't usually my role."

"What do you mean?"

"Normally, Hannibal would be the one calling the shots here. And I'm pretty sure whatever plan he came up with, it would be just as..." he paused, searching for a word with a wistful smile on his face, "exciting."

"Exciting, huh?" She stood, and crossed to him, taking hold of both sides of his tie.

"Yeah. Though Murdock does a pretty good job of keeping things exciting in Hannibal's absence."

She laughed quietly, watching him as he finished buttoning his shirt. He moved his hands to her waist, pulling her in a little closer as she knotted his tie carefully, tightened it, and straightened it. Before she had a chance to step back, he pulled her down, onto his lap, and leaned forward to bury his face in her hair.

"I miss you, you know," he whispered.

There was no seduction or insinuation to that. It was a simple fact, plainly stated. And it made her smile as she leaned into him slightly. "I miss you too," she answered quietly.

He nuzzled her gently. "Want me to bring a bottle of wine back with me?"

"To go with the pizza?"

"Yeah."

He smiled as he pulled back just enough to look at her, and she stroked her fingers lightly over the side of his face. "You'd just better hurry up with whatever you've got to do tonight," she whispered softly. "Because I'm going to miss you even more, sitting here waiting here for you."

*X*X*X*

The bass was thumping out time as a busty brunette wearing nothing but pasties and a smile slid her back down the pole. Normally Travis would be watching her with great interest, but he was too deep in his thoughts to do more than toss a glance in her direction.

He did a quick scan of the club, noting the added security he had put in place. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he tried in vain to stop the headache that was building. Beverly Richards. It all came back to her. That bitch was a damned stone around his neck. How much misery and money could one cunt cause? She took his brother, his guns, his reputation, and now she showed up with some blonde bastard trying to take everything he had left.

Goddamn son of a bitch took out a dozen boats last night. He grimaced and tossed back a double shot of vodka_. _Who the hell blew up empty boats? Of course, that really wasn't a question. He knew exactly who'd done it. The fucker had left his _name _in flames on the ground - a very clear message. Now the big question was, what was his next move?

Travis had upped the price on Beverly's head: two hundred thousand dollars to anyone who could bring her to him _alive._ Until he had those guns, he didn't want her dead. Once he got that out of her, she could burn at the stake for all he cared. Hell, he'd tie her there himself.

He lit a smoke as he glanced at his watch. Nothing in his local network had turned up anything on Tom, so he had gone to a higher power. He should be hearing from his contact soon. He'd find out who the bastard was, one way or another.

Travis looked up as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, a little too fast for his liking. But it wasn't a threat. It was his own man, Pete, moving with definite purpose towards him. As he approached, he bent down to speak quietly.

"Sir, there's somebody here who wants to see you. I think it's that guy who was here the other night."

Travis did a quick scan of the darkened club as his heartbeat immediately stepped up a bit. Why was Tom back? The only thing Travis knew for sure about the man was that he was unpredictable. But this time, Travis was ready for him. He had given strict orders that every man going into his club be checked for weapons. Now it was time to see just how suicidal Tom was.

"Contact the rest of the guards. Make sure everyone checks in. Last time that son of a bitch got snipers into my own damn club. Once they check in, clear him and bring him back to me."

He poured himself another shot. It was time to do business. But instead of immediately moving to carry out his orders, Pete cleared his throat.

"He, uh... He doesn't want to come in, Sir."

Travis frowned. "Well, what the hell does he want then?"

"He wants you to come outside."

Travis had to laugh at that. Did Tom think he was an idiot? "Like hell. That prick got snipers into my _own _club. If he thinks I'm meeting him in the open, he's nuts."

"He, uh... He said you'd say that. And he said if you did, he'd just leave."

Oh, so he was going to play hard ball? "Drag his ass in here," Travis ordered, feeling a flicker of anger.

"Yes, Sir."

With a nod, Pete turned and walked quickly back to the door.

Travis took the shot and poured another. It took an effort to force himself to sit back in his booth. Tom coming back here alone was enough to have his adrenalin kicking in. Not that he would admit it, but the man made him nervous. The cold smile and slick ways, spoke of a man who was just as cunning and ruthless as he was. But until he knew what game Tom was playing, there wasn't much he could do about it.

It was several minutes before Pete returned with Tom, and a man on either side of him. Tom was smiling as he stopped next to the table and immediately spoke, without waiting for Travis to speak.

"Beverly Richards was watching as you dragged me into this club, and has been instructed that if that were to happen and I don't emerge within five minutes, it means you _don't _want to negotiate and she needs to go directly to the police."

Travis stared at him, caught off guard by the confrontation. Beverly. His hands clenched, actually itching at the thought of getting a hold of her. But survival instincts kicked in again. He had no way of even knowing if Tom was telling the truth or not. A smooth bastard like Tom might just be smart enough to bait a trap with her. And Travis didn't even know for sure he had her to begin with.

_Except he knew just which boats to hit..._

"Assuming you _do _want to negotiate, you have about two minutes and thirty seconds to determine the venue," Tom continued, entirely calm and comfortable.

Travis thought through his options at a furious pace. "You want to collect the bounty on her?"

"Two fifteen."

"You gotta tell me what you want if you want to deal."

"I want a neutral atmosphere to conduct business. And you're down to two minutes."

Travis hesitated just a moment. "Alright, fine. You and me go to the parking garage down at the county building. Fourth level, center aisle, half hour."

"Sounds like a fair offer." Tom looked to the men on either side. "Now if you don't mind, I have about a minute and thirty seconds to get back outside."

"Get him out of here," Travis ordered.

Pete stayed close by as the other two led him back to the door. Travis waited until he was out of sight before he spoke to Pete. "I want every one of those extra security teams on him, all four of them. If they lose sight of him, it will come out of their hides."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Murdock had been at the bar for a little over an hour when Travis made his move. Not a moment too soon in his mind. There were only so many watered down drinks and naked girls being ogled that he could take. Truth be told, he'd had his fill of both years ago.

Of the sixteen guards he had identified, twelve went with Travis. That left the two at the door and the two by the stage. With a shake of his head Murdock finished his beer. Travis was making this almost too easy.

Weaving ever so slightly he headed for the men's room, just another drunk looking for the bathroom. Turning down the semi dark hall he paused at the men's room. Camera in the corner, but it was unplugged. Hell of a lot of good that did. Travis really _was _making this a breeze.

When he was sure no one else was around, Murdock hustled to the end of the hall and ducked around the corner. Pressing his back flat against the wall on the right, he surveyed the surroundings. It was just like Bev said, office door about twenty feet down on the left. And a single surveillance camera - this one worked - hanging from the ceiling.

Smiling to himself, he slid down the corridor, out of the cameras view. Then it was just the simple matter of reaching up and disconnecting the video feed wire. Thanks to Stockwell and his palace, Murdock had gotten a lot of practice lately on how to disable a video camera.

Taking his ball cap off, he pulled out the lock picks and latex gloves from their hiding place. Putting the hat firmly back on his head, he glanced around making sure he was alone and then went to work on the door. Twenty seconds later he was inside the outer office, silently closing the door behind him.

With the mini flashlight on his key chain, he made it the fifteen feet to the door of Travis private office. Humming the theme from "Mission Impossible" to himself, he held the flashlight in his teeth as he picked the lock to the private office. The soft click the lock gave when it opened had him grinning.

Soft blue light from the large fish tank on the back wall illuminated the office. Pulling the door closed behind him he shook his head. The place was decorated in early American slime ball. Black lacquer desk and coffee table, mirrored wet bar with neon lighting, white shag throw rug, and black leather sofa complete with zebra striped pillows. Seriously? Where did Travis get this stuff, at a garage sale in Las Vegas?

Sitting down in the chair, Murdock went to work on the locked desk drawer. Very carefully, he worked the lock picks, making sure not to scratch the desk or the lock. As soon as he had the desk unlocked, he pulled the bottom drawer open.

Several guns were inside. Finding the 9mm, he set it on the desk. He changed his theme music to "Lawyers, Guns and Money" as he pulled a clip, neatly wrapped in a plastic bag, out of his sock. This clip was free of finger prints, as were the bullets inside of it. Using his gloved hand he carefully switched the clips. The clip from Travis's gun went into the plastic baggie and then back into his sock. Travis's gun was put back exactly were he found it.

Now it was time for the fun part. Rubbing his hands together in glee, Murdock headed over to the painting. Bev had said the safe was behind the oil painting hanging on wall across from the desk. She hadn't said what the subject of the painting was.

Murdock had to stare at it for a moment, and then turn his head to this side before he could figure it out. No way could he stop the shocked grin. He wasn't even sure what the nude women in the painting were doing was even physically possible. But the poor things had to be cold.

Still grinning, he set the "artwork" on the floor. It was a small safe; it wouldn't take much of the plastique he had in his inside jacket pocket to blow the lock off that. In under a minute, Murdock had a nickel size charge on the lock and the detonating cord lit. The resulting boom was considerably anti climactic. There were too many people at the club to risk the loud noise that blowing the whole door of the safe would have required.

Instead he'd used just enough to blow the dial off the safe, exposing the lock mechanism. Using the screwdriver from his pocket knife, he moved the lock pins, and the safe was open. Several file folders went onto his jacket, as did the large stack of cash. He'd let Face count that; it would be like an early birthday gift to him.

His hand hesitated at a brick shaped package covered in black plastic. Travis dealt cocaine out of this club. Could that be what this was? Taking the bundle, he set it on the wet bar and stabbed it with his pocket knife. Fine white powder, just as he'd expected. One tiny taste with his finger and he realized he was holding one hell of a lot of very pure cocaine.

His first thought was to toss it in the fish tank, but somehow he didn't think the fish would appreciate that. Instead he turned on the water and tore the package open. Dumping all the contents down the drain, he left the empty plastic wrap on the sink.

Murdock closed the door behind him as he exited the room, and hot footed it to the door leading into the hall. Ducking his head out quickly, he made sure it was clear before stepping into the hall, and closing the door. Head down and weaving again, he peeled his gloves off and jammed them in his pockets.

Singing softly and looking for all the world like a satisfied customer, Murdock meandered his way out the front door of the club. By the time he got to the rental car he was whistling. As he drove the car away, he pulled the stack of cash out of his jacket. It looked like he had more than enough money to buy dinner tonight.

*X*X*X*

It was obvious to Face that Travis was paranoid. Rightly so. He saw the tail from the moment he pulled out of the parking space. He didn't bother trying to lose them. It was a leisurely pace, and he kept an eye on them to make sure they had no trouble following. One thing about tailing someone that Face had learned long ago: the people doing it were usually so focused on not losing their target, they often didn't notice the fact that _they_ were being followed.

Face pulled into the empty garage and watched in the rearview mirror as the tail stopped just outside of the garage. He also saw the car behind them pass. Face had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the driver before he turned the corner. Frankie would go somewhere and park. This little detour wasn't entirely unexpected.

Parking the rental car where they had been told to, he shot a quick glance at Beverly. She looked just different enough to make him do a double take, not quite enough to conceal her identity. She was sitting with her head back, eyes closed.

"You okay?" he asked

She looked at him and gave a full smile. Any insecurity she had, she was hiding it like a pro. That was good, because this part of the plan would require a cool head. And whatever her thoughts were on the guns, they were in agreement on how to handle Travis.

Face was waiting behind the car, leaning back on the trunk, arms across when Travis pulled up. Beverly was sitting beside him, legs crossed with one high heeled shoe on the trunk of the sedan. The other foot bobbed up and down casually. She looked almost bored. Her ability to keep it together, Face had to admit, was impressive. It was a good thing, because she was, very simply, the best bait they had.

He smiled as the limo pulled to a stop in front of him and slipped a hand to her back, guiding her to her feet. It would be all too easy for Travis to take a look around at the lack of spectators and get it in his head to throw them both in that limo. Face was ready for that. He was also well aware that at the moment, he made a much better kill target than Beverly. He wanted her alive, but she'd be easy to grab without him there. He had no inherent worth. He was walking on eggshells, even _with _his backup waiting in the wings. Frankie should be in the stairwell by now...

"Hi," he greeted as Travis stepped out of the back of the limo. "I wanted to revisit our negotiations in an atmosphere a little more neutral."

Travis got out of the limo and hesitated. Face cold feel him sizing up the situation. Maintaining his air of cool confidence, Face met his stare. Dealing with men like Travis was a lot like dealing with overly aggressive animals. Any hint of worry or fear and he would be as good as dead.

It was that air of confidence that had Travis signaling to his body guards to stay inside as he closed the door. Travis needed Beverly too much to risk screwing up now. Taking one last inhale on his cigarette, Travis looked Tom up and down.

"What's to stop me from shooting you dead and throwing her in the limo?"

Face sighed. "You're not stupid, Travis. And neither am I. We both know that neither one of us would be standing here in the open without backup waiting in the wings."

Travis glared at him, but there was no hiding the cold hatred that flashed in Travis eyes when he locked stares with Beverly. Obviously, he recognized her. Turning his attention back to Face, Travis spoke in a hard, flat tone.

"One hundred thousand dollars, and she leaves with me."

It was stated as a fact, but they both knew that was only his opening offer in the negotiations. Before Face had a chance to answer, Beverly giggled. He raised a brow at her. She knew her lines, and he had confidence that she'd say them in the right order. But he hadn't been expecting her to giggle like a schoolgirl while she did it.

"You're kidding, right?" Even the pitch of her voice was different. Girly. Playful. Pouty. "I'm worth three million dollars in guns, and a hundred thousand is all you can spare?"

Face could see Travis's fists clench as he turned his outraged and hate filled eyes to Beverly, snarling at her. "Keep laughing, little girl, and I may decide that it's worth the three million to see you pay from what you did to Andre."

He hadn't raised his voice, but the message was clear. His fury at her and her laughter was evident but, as yet, contained. Face had to trust that she understood the stakes here, and wasn't _really _trying to get them both killed by pushing this man past the limits of his patience. Travis wanted the guns, but he'd survive without them. He'd been surviving for the past two years, after all. And anger at the giggling, smirking woman who'd killed his brother could be enough to make him forget the guns and go straight to revenge killing. That would be best avoided for obvious reasons.

"You cared a lot for your brother," Face said. "I understand that. But at this point, you have a choice to either carry on his business or destroy it. That is entirely up to you."

Travis's eyes cut away from Beverly, and honed in on Face. "I wouldn't lose any sleep over putting a bullet in your head, either."

"That may be true, in theory," Face answered. "However, you've probably figured out by now that I don't work alone. And if anything should happen to me _or_ her, a few boats and some guns that you haven't seen in two years are going to be the least of your worries. And besides, the fact is, you _want _the guns."

Travis heard the threat and addressed it with a smile devoid of anything close to humor. "You're good Tom, I'll give you that."

"I know what I want. And right now, I want to negotiate."

"You have managed to make yourself a large pain in my ass in a very short amount of time. For that I commend you."

Travis took a step closer, eyes darkening. Now came the return threat. His voice dropped to a growl as he fixed his eyes hard on Face. "But have no doubt, Tom. If I decide to come after you, I will take every last one of you out. You, her, your friends, your families, everyone. You are a dangerous man. But so am I."

Face listened with a polite smile, letting Travis finish before he spoke. "Well, since we're making threats, I think that segues nicely into the negotiation portion of things."

Travis took a step back, eyes locked firmly on Face.

"Clearly, this is Beverly," Face said. "And clearly, she knows where the guns are. We have no reason not to give them to you. They're rightfully yours, and we have no use for them. So here's how this is going to work. She gets on a plane and gets out of San Antonio. You never see her again, and she never sees you. As a courtesy, you get all your guns back. I stay out of your life as long as this agreement remains intact. If not, I come back. I scare your workers, I get the FBI involved, I blow up your transport vehicles, your shipments, your offices... I will even change your license plate with one from a car that's been stolen _just_ so that the police will have a reason to pull you over and find the cocaine you've got in your limo."

He stopped, and smiled again at the cold look on Travis' face. "You're right, Travis. We're both dangerous men. We can either have a pissing contest over this, or you can take your guns and go your way, and Beverly will go hers, and I'll go mine."

It was a good deal, too good of one on fact. That was a calculated risk on his part. Face had no delusion about Travis and his intent to keep his part of any bargain that ended with the girl walking away. No matter what was agreed on, Travis would be intent on killing them both. On the other hand Travis had nothing to lose by agreeing to such a sweet deal for now then coming after them once he had the guns. And if Travis was left with the impression that "Tom" was a bit naïve, all the better.

"What's to stop her from giving me a bogus location and having my men and I walk into a trap?" Travis demanded. "That's her style."

Face shrugged at that. "She does that, all bets are off." Face looked at her, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "For that matter, I'd be a little pissed, because that voids _our_ agreement. And even getting out of the country won't make a difference as far as my operations are concerned."

She looked back at him, locked gazes for a moment, then looked away, impassive.

"And if I agree to this, how do you propose we get the location? After, of course, Ms. Richards has left town?"

"I'll have her leave it in a locker at the airport," Face answered reasonably. "She'll be leaving tomorrow at three p.m. on a flight out of here. If you'd like to see her off, you're welcome to."

Keeping his face a neutral mask, Travis stared at him, as if debating what to do. Face knew his mind was already made up, but there was no reason to let them see that. He was guarded. The man was smart.

"I will have an associate do just that," he said flatly. "You have a deal, Tom."

With his best business smile, Face took a single step forward, extending a hand. Eyeing him with equal parts suspicion and cunning, Travis did the same.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Travis." He stepped back from the handshake, and gestured to Beverly. "Get in the car."


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

"You know that's complete bullshit, right?" Beverly asked as she strapped her seatbelt back across her waist.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Face adjusted the rearview mirror. He was sure someone would tail him out of here, and he would need to keep an eye on them.

"I'm not new at this, if that's what you're asking. I know he still has every intention of killing you."

Face put the car in reverse, backed up, then circled wide around the limo. "But he stands to lose the least and gain the most by accepting this deal. Even if he suspects it's a trap, that doesn't change. He knows you're not afraid of him, and he knows there's a reason why you're suddenly here and willing to walk away from millions of dollars in weapons."

"How about because I want my life back?" she said.

Face raised a brow as he glanced at her. "If you were going to try to sell that, laughing at him was not the way to do it."

She smiled. "It was worth it to see the look on his face. I've waited two years for that."

"Just remember, he's waited just as long to see you beg for your life."

She was quiet for a moment. As they pulled out of the parking garage, she leaned forward to look in the rearview mirror. "You know they're following us." It wasn't quite a question.

Face chuckled. "I'd be disappointed if they didn't."

It was much more difficult to conduct a car chase on the streets of San Antonio than in LA. Face was at a disadvantage - several, in fact. He didn't know the streets or where they led. He also had no idea just how close they were to an area that might be swarming with police patrol. In the end, they'd picked up flashing red and blue lights, right behind the car full of Travis's mans. They'd lost it, and Travis's tail, in a close encounter with a semi truck.

There had been no screaming from Bev - in fact, she hadn't made a sound - her "cool under pressure" façade was given away by the fact that even when he shut the car off in the parking lot of the motel, her knuckles were still white with the death grip she had on the armrest.

He almost laughed as he got out of the car. "You coming?"

She looked at him and simply stared for a moment, before speaking in a slightly shaky voice. "I'm working on it."

Frankie was waiting on the stairs. He made his way to the car, before she'd quite managed to get out of it. "Hey, where have you been? Man, you lost me! I was worried about you!"

She finally opened the door and stepped out hesitantly. Face watched her while he answered Frankie, making sure she was steady on her feet. Apparently she wasn't used to that kind of adrenaline. "You weren't the only one following us."

Frankie noticed Bev and took a step toward her, concerned. "Hey, you alright?"

She put her hands up and took a quick step back, speaking too quickly. "I'm fine; don't touch me."

Frankie spent a moment looking back and forth between the two of them. Face simply shrugged, and waited for Beverly to go first up the steps and towards the room.

The smell of French fries and grease greeted them as they opened the door to Murdock's room. It looked like he'd stopped at Burger Barn on his way back from the club. If the smell hadn't given it away, the burger he was holding in his hand did. So did the grease stained bags piled on the dresser.

He was sitting at the small, generic round table that every two star and above hotel offered. Not only did it offer a view of the parking lot, which explained why Murdock wasn't startled by their entrance. It also gave him a place to read over the papers he had spread out in front of him. Face smirked. It looked like he had no trouble getting into Travis's safe.

Looking up from the papers and hastily swallowing his bite of burger before he spoke, Murdock was talking as soon as the door closed. The man was on an adrenaline high and, in truth, Face had his own lower key buzz going on.

Holding up the burger in his hand, Murdock grinned. "Hey guys, I got dinner for us but Jess says Face isn't allowed to eat so sorry, you don't get any."

Frankie gave him a funny look, but Face smiled. "Anything interesting in there?"

"Not much on characters, but one hell of a plot." Murdock grinned at Face and raised his eye brows. "Did you kids have fun?"

Before he answered, Face glanced at Beverly. Her fists were now clenched at her sides and she still looked a little pale. "Plenty," she answered.

"Travis took the bait," Face said.

Murdock was studying Beverly. Not too surprising since she was still trying to completely regain her composure.

"He's planning on sending somebody to the airport tomorrow to see her off."

Bev sat down on the foot of the bed. "It'll be sad to miss the look of disappointment on his face when they come back to him empty handed."

Murdock put his burger down on the window sill. Face could see him working his jaw, as if trying to keep his words from coming out to fast. "Actually, going on a little vacation is a good plan, Bev," he said. "We can keep Travis occupied but he still has influence. And we can't be sure how far it reaches. You may wanna go as far as you can get without actually leaving the country."

"Why without leaving the country?" Frankie asked.

"Because then we're messing with the feds," Murdock answered. "Or whoever it is who's got that warrant out for her."

"I thought the plan was to make Travis go down on that."

"News doesn't travel fast enough to make sure she's not stopped," Face said.

Bev rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you guys have this all worked out.

"Anyone see you?" Face asked Murdock, ignoring her complaint.

"Sure, Face, lots of people saw, me. It's not like I'm invisible today. That's only on Thursdays on months with the letter 'R' in them. But no one noticed me gettin' in or out of the office. And the security cameras had an unfortunate accident."

Face waited out the explanation patiently. "Is there anything in those papers that I need to know before I call him tonight?"

Murdock's head swiveled back to the papers on the table. "Well, it looks like he doesn't believe in putting all his eggs in one basket. He has six, count 'em, _six _separate accounts. Three in the Caymans and two numbered Swiss accounts and one in the Bahamas."

He handed a page to Face. "They each have close to two hundred and fifty K in them. And there's a stack over there of I don't know how much."

Face looked in the direction he was pointing. The large stack of bills was certainly eye catching. "Figured I'd let you count that. You'll enjoy it more than I will."

"Should be more than enough to pay for Lola and Sheena's vacation _and _Beverly's," Face said with a smile.

"I don't need Travis' money," Bev protested.

Murdock grinned back as he picked his burger up again. "You may wanna check my math on the ledger since you're the numbers guy."

Face glanced over the papers. "Well, this is certainly enough money that when Andre confronted him, he'd do what he had to in order to protect his investment."

Murdock had gone back to attacking his burger while Face was talking. Finishing up a large bite he spoke again. "Yeah, more than enough proof to get the federal suits down here to give him some really pretty silver bracelets."

Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he paused. Then he grinned widely. "Oh, yeah! I found a couple kilos of blow in the safe too. I dumped it down the sink in his wet bar, so he might be a little miffed about that."

Face sighed as he half-rolled his eyes, turning away. "Great." He set the papers on the table again. "In that case, I'll wait until tomorrow morning to call Travis. And in the meantime, everybody needs to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be one hell of a day."

*X*X*X*

Jessica was in the shower as Face entered the room and pulled the chain across behind him. He stripped his weapons, then reached for the little pocketbook in the inside of his jacket before shrugging it off as well and setting it over the back of the chair. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he thumbed through it as he reached for the phone.

"Hey, Hannibal."

"How's it going, Face?"

"Not bad. How's life as a hostage?"

Hannibal chuckled. "It's getting old. How much more time do you guys need?"

Face heard the bathroom door open, and caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. His attention soon followed as Jessica, naked and smiling, walked to the bed and crawled behind him.

"We should be wrapped up here by tomorrow afternoon."

"Are you going to come down here or head back to Virginia?"

An involuntary smile crossed Face's lips as Jessica's hands massaged his shoulders for just a moment, then slid down to his chest, her warm body against his back.

"No, we'll come down there. That way there's no confusion with Stockwell."

"Confusion with Stockwell?"

Confusion was the wrong word. Or, at least, not the best one. But the warm kisses on the side of his neck were making it a little hard to think.

"Whether or not he actually believes we were down there by the time this is all said and done, I still want to be able to have plausible deniability."

"Did you check in with him at all today?"

"No. It would've been more of a giveaway if I did. Besides, I had other things on my mind."

She pressed harder, tipping his head a little as she kissed and nipped along his jaw, arms circling around his waist and hands playing with his belt.

"Murdock okay? Since it was his girlfriend who's caught up in whatever's going on up there."

"Murdock's fine. And trust me, this girl can take care of herself."

"Does he know that?"

"I have no idea what all is going on between those two. You'll have to talk to him about that."

Face's eyes slid closed involuntarily as Jessica's hands slipped into his open slacks, fingers brushing lightly over soft, heated skin before she whispered in his other ear, "I want you."

"Anyways, like I said, we should be done tomorrow. I'll call you if that changes. Otherwise I'll find you when we get into San Lucino."

"Be careful, Face."

"Yeah." He shifted, leaning back to maintain his balance as Jessica moved around him, straddling his waist. "I'm always careful."

"Night."

He couldn't reach the cradle for the phone. Instead, he held it out to her. "You wanna put that back for me?"

She smiled as she took it and leaned over to put it back. Once she did, and before she had a chance to regain her balance, he dropped back and pulled her over him, rolling and pinning her to the mattress as she squealed in surprise.

*X*X*X*

Murdock awoke to the sound of shuffling. Half opening his eyes, he saw that the other side of the bed was empty. Bev. Before he had a chance to sit up, he heard the door open, and a cool breeze swept past him. He closed his eyes again. She was probably just stepping out for a cigarette. Still, there was an inherent danger out there. And it was looking specifically for her. Not to mention, he needed to keep an eye on her.

Sighing, he pushed himself up, grabbing his gun just in case, and walked to the window, peering out. He didn't see her. It was dark, but he still should've been able to see her in the walkway. The sound of a car starting a moment later told him why he didn't see her. His eyes widened, and then he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own two feet.

It was a good thing he'd slept in his clothes, because he was out the door in no time flat. He had the keys to the car he had driven to the club still in his jacket pocket. Running down the path and down the stairs, he was in the car and had the engine running before his mind even thought about alerting Face and Frankie.

He caught sight of her pulling out of the parking light and followed her taillights. It wasn't until he was following her down the road that he stopped to wonder where she was going. He felt something - not quite anger, but not quite controllable - moving in him with that thought. If she was playing them, risking their lives and playing god with millions of dollars of weapons...

She drove the way she normally did - not fast, not slow. If she noticed him, she gave no indication. Onto the freeway and back off. He realized at the exit where they were going. The junkyard where the guns were was the only thing in this run down, light industrial area that she'd have any interest in. Nobody had any reason to be driving around here and if he followed behind her, she'd notice the lights. He knew exactly where she was going. He'd meet her there.

By the time he found his way through the maze of streets from the next exit, and put the car in park on the street next to hers, she was already gone. He had his gun in hand as he stood and looked around carefully for any sign that she was meeting someone. No other cars. No signs of life.

She'd slipped through the gate again. He had to pick the lock. It was a little more nerve wracking this time. He still had no way of knowing what was inside this gate. And this time he had no backup. If she was playing them - meeting someone, maybe - there was no telling what could be waiting for anyone who was following her. Besides a hell of a lot of guns in a tin and plywood room.

The door to the storage unit was closed; it didn't stay open on its own. But the lock was off. She had to be in there. There was nowhere else she'd be. No other reason why she would've come. Ear to the cool metal, listening, he heard nothing. No conversation, no sound. If she was talking in anything over a whisper, he should've been able to hear at least murmuring. He frowned at the door. He would have to lift it to see inside.

There were no voices, no cars, no one else here. Whatever she was doing, she was doing it alone. So what was she doing? He looked at the door. What was the worst thing that could happen if he opened it? Bev could shoot him, but she had plenty of chances to do that already if she wanted to. Taking a deep breath Murdock gave one more quick look around and then opened the door.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

The plywood wall was open, letting the light into the back room where the boxes were still neatly stacked. A few of the guns had been removed, and were lying on the floor beside her. She was on her back on the concrete floor, knees bent, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes shifted to him, but didn't linger before she looked back up at the ceiling. If she was surprised to see him, she didn't show it. Cradling an M-16 against her chest, fingers stroking it lightly, she otherwise didn't move.

"I should've known you'd follow me."

There was nothing hostile in her quiet words. It was a statement of fact, not a judgment call. His eyes lingered on her as he evaluated that tone very carefully, sorting through the jumbled feelings in his own mind. When he'd heard the car, he had thought the worst - that she was betraying the team. But that clearly wasn't the case. She wasn't meeting with anyone; she was here alone.

The relief that knowledge brought also came with its own set of questions. If her reason for being here was innocent, why had she broken the one rule they'd set for her, and run off on her own? Why didn't she seem to care about the danger she was putting herself in? The longer he looked at her, watching her stare at the ceiling, lovingly caressing an M-16, the less those questions seemed to matter. But they still lingered in the back of his mind as he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the thin wall.

"It does kinda seem like following you has become a full time job lately."

It wasn't an accusation. In fact, it was almost conversational. If she wanted to tell him why she was willing to take such a risk just to lay on the floor with an assault rifle, he'd listen.

She sat up, and set the weapon on the floor beside her as she set her hands in her lap. Her eyes locked on his, dark and intense in spite of her soft whisper as she continued. "Look at this place."

He didn't move. That look he'd seen in her eyes before, the last time she was in this room, wasn't there. He was looking for it, but he didn't see it. He said nothing as she stood, taking the M-16 with her. He simply watched and waited to see what she would do, what she would say. And if that shadow would pass over her again.

She set the weapon on top of the box to her right, running her fingers over the full length of it. Then she shut her eyes, and breathed in deep as she tipped her head back. She held it, and let it out slow, a slow smile crossing her lips.

"God, Murdock, I can't even describe how this feels."

"Liberating?" he offered. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the look on her face. But he knew exactly what she was feeling.

Eyes still closed, she lowered her head, chin to chest, breathing deep. "I've spent two years running from this. Trying to pretend like I didn't need it."

"I thought you spent two years planning how to get it back."

The half-laugh she gave him was pure sarcasm. "I bought a house in Hawaii, Murdock. One I thought I'd be happy in for the rest of my life. And every morning when I walked down to the beach, all I could think about was this place, this life I left behind me. Left it, like it wasn't a part of me. Like I could just ignore it and it would go away and I could be normal."

Slowly, her eyes opened. Slowly, they rose and met his. It was like pulling back a curtain, and suddenly, that look was back.

"But I'm not normal," she growled, low in her throat. "And I don't want to be."

What he saw behind that curtain she'd pulled back for him was nothing like the picture on the outside. Behind those eyes, she wasn't the same color or shape or size as the woman standing in front of him. She was bigger, and darker, and infinitely more intense. And she stopped his thoughts cold for the second time in two days.

But this time, he was ready for it. This time, he didn't stare blankly and try to figure out what he was looking at. This time, he let his own feelings come, just to see what they would do. The reaction to what she was showing was instinctual. It was something primal in him that reacted to everything he saw and felt in her. It was like looking at a stranger and seeing himself looking back. Not what he wanted to be, or what he needed people to see in him. But the deepest, darkest parts of himself. The darkness and violence and anger so strong and frightening that he never dared to let it see the light of day.

Suddenly, he more than understood what she was.

She held his stare. It was like watching her bare her fangs - the thing in her responding to the thing in him. He could feel it in his chest, drawn to the surface by her so quickly and suddenly and strongly, he had to make a conscious effort not to push it back down. To let it out, and see what it would bring out in her. He watched, like a spectator, as it inspected her.

She wasn't normal; neither was he. What she had tried to ignore for years, he had hidden for decades. It was like living a lifetime alone, and finally meeting someone of the same species. He had been so sure that no such creature existed, he had never even considered what it would feel like to meet another one like that thing that was born in him in a blood-filled pit in Vietnam. He didn't know her origin and he didn't care. It was enough to know that they were the same on a base, instinctual level.

His feet were moving. So were hers. They were circling each other.

"I could've stayed in Hawaii for the rest of my life," she growled. "Lived off of investments and worked on my fucking tan. Died a slow death, more and more each day, in a pretty, boring prison."

There was nothing about her that was seduction. But he could feel that fire kindling deep inside of him as he watched her. All the muscles, all his senses, all his nerves were waiting for something. Something she had...

"But if I'm going to die, I might as well die _for _something. And this," she nodded towards the room, but didn't take her eyes off of Murdock, "this is worth dying for. It's worth killing for. It's even worth living for."

"What are you going to do when it's over, Bev?" he challenged, keeping pace with her. "When Travis is gone and you can surround yourself with guns that are just as worthless as the money?"

She growled, a low sound, in her throat. It was a call to that thing coming back to life in him. That thing he couldn't identify, but knew was there.

"It doesn't have a goddamn thing to do with the guns," she snarled.

"No, of course it doesn't. It's the rush."

"It's the power. The control."

"And it only lasts as long as it takes that person to bleed out."

He could feel his blood racing, singing in his ears. He didn't say things like this. He didn't admit to knowing things like this - the way it felt to hold the power of life and death. The dark and evil part of him that craved the blood of the unsuspecting and helpless. He'd downed it before until he was drunk. Drowned in it. It had nearly killed him. And he had felt no pain.

"I don't want to cause fear for the sadistic pleasure of watching someone who's afraid. I just want to be..." Her fingers caressed the trigger of the pistol in her hand. She never took her eyes off of him. "More."

She stopped with her back to the wall, leaning against the boxes. Remaining still, he felt the thing in him fighting its way out. No, it was more than that. It was a change, a metamorphosis. Terrifying and liberating. Though all the chaos going on inside him, her voice, her look, her shadow was guiding his. It wanted something from her; it needed something. The only part of him that moved was his jaw clenched as the thing shifted and rearranged inside of him.

"Do you know what it feels like to be untouchable?" she whispered. "To have no fear? Doesn't mean that there's nothing _to _fear, just that you're so damn high..." Her eyes slid closed, and she tipped her head back slightly, breathing deep. "You can't feel it. Because you were _dead_, and cold, and nothing..." She opened her eyes again, and looked back at him. "And now you're alive."

He didn't move. Didn't answer. Not only did he know what it was like to be trapped in a place so dark that he was sure he'd never see the sunlight again, he knew what it was like to be freed from that place and alive again.

She stalked a few slow steps forward, and reached for his hand. She wasn't asking, or inviting. She grabbed the back of his fingers, pulled his arm up, and placed his palm against her chest, hard.

"Do you feel that?" she hissed at him. Her heart was racing against his palm. Her eyes were on fire with that dark light. "I am _alive_. And I don't give a damn what this costs me in the end."

Her heart under his hand, pounding against him as her body pressed to his. The feel of her, so real, alive and within reach, was last clear thought he had as the thing broke free. There was no thinking, no higher level of reason as he pushed off the wall with a sound that was nothing more than a low growl.

Suddenly he was on her. The hand that was on her heart grabbed her shoulder, his other one in her hair. Pulling her head back, stepping into her, pulling her to him. She opened to him, grabbing his shoulders and digging her nails into the jacket. Blood roared in his ears as he kissed her, crushing her mouth with his as he turned and pinned her to the wall.

There were no thoughts of pleasure, no enjoyment. There was just raw, desperate need - lust that wasn't about her, or him. It was about that primal instinct, let off of its leash and out of its cage. His and hers, fangs and claws, teeth to throat.

Her head dropped back as she broke from the kiss, panting hard, ripping at his jacket until she shoved it down his arms. His hands were immediately back on her once they were free, pulling and ripping her shirt. Fighting against her clothes, against anything that stood between him and her. Skin, sweat, scent, warmth - that was suddenly all that mattered.  
Her whole body was heaving in time with her gasps for air. As she kicked her jeans aside, she was pushing his down, past his hips. Holding his shoulders, back against the wall, she put her legs up and around his waist. He thrust into her - no thought, no preparation, no warning, no care - and she gasped loudly. With one hand, he grabbed her thigh, holding it, holding her tight to him.

She made a loud, animalistic cry as he pulled back and thrust deeper, harder, hand fisting into her hair. His teeth held her neck. His hands held her open for him, hard enough to bruise. White noise was screaming in his ears as he snarled and drove into her has hard and deep as he could, using any means he had to hold her to him under him.

In some distant part of his mind, her desperate sounds registered. It drove him harder. Pain followed where she raked her nails down his arms, drawing blood. The smell of it made him want more of her. Her body was moving in time with his, pulling from him. He pulled back, gasping for breath, just enough to watch her face as her eyes rolled back, tipping her head away from him. In that moment, he controlled her completely, letting the pleasure build, and come, and finally sweep over her as she made a sound so raw and full of emotion, it was unlike anything he'd ever heard before.

He didn't stop. Driven on by forces beyond his understanding, his whole world was nothing more than flesh, friction and feel. He pushed harder, deeper into her until finally he gasped, then released with a cry that matched hers, spilling his seed deep inside of her.

The pleasure, and the white noise that followed, was blinding. Mind fragmented and dazed, he could hear her gasping for air, feel her body trembling as she dropped her head forward, letting it rest on his shoulder. His legs were weak, and he slid arms around her back, pulling her to his chest and switching places with her so he could slide down the wall. He ended up sitting on the cement, with his legs tangled in his jeans and her on his lap, both of them still trying to catch their breath.

His mind was blank as he held her close, stroking the soft skin on her back and arms instinctively. The sweat on her forehead was mingling with his. Weak and primal moans were still escaping her throat as she clung to him, shaking. And slowly, the thing inside of him receded.

Slowly, he caught his breath. Her hands roamed from his shoulders into his hair, holding his head as she kissed him deeply, her tongue caressing his. Everything neither one of them could describe - the need, the release, the pleasure, and what it meant to be alive - was in that slow, intimate kiss. He opened to it, accepted it and returned it - a silent communication that they both understood. He let it linger as her breathing gradually evened out, and let her take whatever it was she needed from him at the moment.

There were tears on her cheeks, and in her eyes as she held his face with both hands. "Don't take this from me," she whispered. "Please."

He closed his eyes. He couldn't answer her. He couldn't even think. Right now, all he could do was feel. And everything he felt was pure pleasure.

She drew her hands down slowly, from the back of his head to his shoulders, pushing him until he felt the cold concrete on his back. Her warm kisses along his collarbone, across his chest, made him his heartbeat pick up all over again. Her hands were running over him slowly, anywhere they could touch as long as their bodies were still pressed close to each other.

"Bev, we can't stay here," he whispered.

She didn't stop. Did he really want her to? Thoughts slowly returned, and he put his hands over hers, holding them still. No matter what he wanted, this wasn't safe. The reality of how exposed they were here was too much to ignore. Alone in a room filled with weapons, without backup, and nobody knew where they were. This was not a good combination.

She trailed soft, warm kisses along his chest and neck, all the way up until her lips were pressed to his ear. "Please don't make me leave." She rubbed her body against his in a slow, steady rhythm that his responded to without thought. "Please. I need to feel this."

He had to close his eyes at the feeling those words brought. There was too much - feeling, sensation, the unknown. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his jumbled feelings down. He would sort them out later.

"I know, Bev," he whispered, opening his eyes to look up at her again. "Just not here."

Her eyes filled again with fresh tears, but finally, she bowed her head. Relinquishing one final, muted sob, she moved off of him and curled up, hugging her knees close to her chest and hiding her face.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

She didn't get out of the car. At first, he thought she was just finishing her cigarette. But then she'd finished it, and she still didn't move. Leaning against the bumper of the other car, he watched her quietly as she sat staring at the hood, shadowed in the lights from the parking lot and the walkway outside the motel room doors. The body language said "fear." The faraway look said volumes more. He knew that look; he knew he'd worn it more than once. She was deep in thought, fighting a silent internal battle.

He had an idea what that battle was about. He had no way of telling just how committed she still was to her plan of taking over this operation once Travis was no more. But one thing he knew for certain, she had every reason in the world to want what she felt in that room. Now that she'd tapped it again, she had a decision to make. She could either learn to trust them, or she would be more dangerous than ever. That was her decision, and she had to make it alone.

If she even noticed him waiting, she didn't acknowledge him. After a few minutes, he finally pushed off of the car and walked slowly to her door - obvious and casual. He wasn't sneaking up on her. She didn't look up as he squatted down beside the open window, leaning his arms on the ledge. No one liked to be talked down to.

"Bev?"

She shut her eyes in response, and drew in a deep, slow breath, letting it out before opening them again. "I've never done anything like that before."

He was almost surprised to hear her speak - especially with honesty. He was pretty certain she was being honest, and pretty certain he knew what about. "Me neither."

She gave a tight, cynical laugh. "Yeah, right."

She didn't believe him. He smiled slightly at that. But he had nothing to say. He wasn't going to try to convince her, to explain that what they had just done was beyond any experience he'd ever even considered before. He could still feel the darkness in him, lurking in the shadows and watching the effects of its work. Her fear, his uncertainty...

But she hadn't been afraid of him in that room. In fact, she'd clung to him. The memory of her scream was still ringing in his ears. He could still feel the heat of her skin against his. She'd known as well as he did what that darkness could do. But she wasn't afraid of it. What had this been, to her? What had it meant? What was it that she needed to feel? And what was it that made her so afraid of feeling it?

She turned slowly, and studied him for a long moment. "You know, I don't think you even _could_ be half as scared as I am right now."

His faint smile held, in spite of the hurt and confusion in her voice, and he dropped his eyes slightly, avoiding her gaze. "Things are rarely what they seem."

"Meaning what?"

He glanced back up, meeting her eyes again. He had plenty of reason to be scared of this and of her. He'd never shown that thing that lived inside of him to anyone willingly - much less a woman. But the parking lot of a motel wasn't the preferred location to talk about those fears. It was far too open, too dangerous.

"Bev..." He took a slow deep breath before continuing. "I can't make you believe me about anything. Not what I'm saying, or what I'm feeling." The smile slide into something more serious. "But I will tell you that I have absolutely no interest in hurting you."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she turned and looked up at him. The fear in her eyes was real, and it touched that part of him that was hardwired to protect those who were weaker than himself. But she wasn't afraid of him. She didn't hesitate to look him straight in the eye. Her fears were deeper. More self-focused. He could read them like a book. It was the same damn thing he felt when he was confronted with what he was capable of. The same thing he felt right now, though he refused to show it.

She looked away again, saying nothing, and took another slow, deep breath. Then, finally, she reached for the handle and pushed the door open slowly. He stood up and stepped back, but she hesitated, studying him, her eyes pleading. With a reassuring smile, he held out a hand to her, palm up. This was her choice; it had to be.

She stood slowly, gripping his hand tighter as she closed the door behind her. He didn't rush her, didn't start walking. He waited for her to take the first step. Instead, she stood still for a moment, watching him. Then, hesitantly, she leaned towards him and touched his lips in something that was almost a kiss, but nearly too light to even feel.

He didn't move. She hesitated there, her warm breath on his lips. His eyes slid closed as he felt it, enjoyed it. It was a caress, soft and intimate. Finally, she dropped her head slightly and caught his lower lip, kissing him gently.

He felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate with that kiss. She was confused, afraid of being hurt. He understood that much better than she could imagine. But he tasted no fear of _him _in her kiss. As he responded gently, she didn't pull back. She let the kiss linger, and slowly raised her eyes to his as it came to a close. Sliding his fingers between hers, he gripped her hand gently and walked toward the stairwell.

The room was much the way they had left it. Silent, dark, and a bit too warm. She walked immediately to the heater under the window and turned on the fan to blow the cooler air from outside into the room. Then she took a few steps, sat down on the edge of the bed with her arms hugging her chest, and slid her shoes off of her feet, keeping her eyes down. She looked uncertain, if not uncomfortable. He gave her the space and distance she seemed to need.

The moment of silence gave him time to think, to try and reconcile all the different sides of her he had seen to the woman who was sitting in front of him now, so unsure. The Bev he had met was confident in everything she did. From answering the door in just a bra and cutoffs to explaining her well-orchestrated plan to use them all to her ends. That confidence was lacking now. Come to think of it, it had been lacking ever since he'd slid to the floor with her, in that storage unit. Ever since she'd asked him "please"...

He slid his jacket off and lay it across the back of the chair before leaning against the wall opposite her. She was looking away from him, hugging herself as she considered her words carefully. "You know, I really did think that in leaving this place, I could just... start over. I've done it before. Up and leave and never look back."

Just the fact that she was she was speaking what she was feeling, without censoring or filtering it, had Murdock standing a little straighter. She was used to showing people only what she wanted to, and taking whatever she thought was needed to meet her goal. Honesty was foreign to her. He could tell that much by the fear in her voice.

"Your past follows you wherever you go," he said quietly. "You can try to ignore, of forget it, but it's always there, and always will be. It's up to you what you decide to do with that."

He watched her as she sat back, pulling her legs up on the bed with her, crossed. It made her look a lot more relaxed. He couldn't help but wonder if that relaxation was genuine, or just a facade. "When you guys burn my contacts and take those guns, you're taking that decision away from me."

"We're taking one of your options away," he corrected. "The one that's going to get you killed in the end."

"Who cares?"

"I care."

There was raw pain in her eyes as she looked back at him. "You don't get it, do you?" she whispered. "It's not just guns in that room. That's everything I sold myself for. It's what I'm worth. Take it from me and you might as well kill me."

"Bev, everything in that room is temporary."

Her jaw tightened. "Everything in this _world _is temporary."

"You said it was worth dying for. And I understand why you'd say that. But once you _lose _yourself in that darkness, the harder thing is going to be worth finding something worth living for."

Her eyes narrowed at him, burying that pain under a protective layer of anger. "What the hell do you know about it?"

"I know what happens when that thing takes over and there's nothing and no one to anchor you to the person you really are. You lose your mind, Bev. You lose everything but survival instinct."

"I don't care. It's worth it just to feel."

"You're wrong," he said firmly, meeting her anger with ice cold clarity of mind. "If you don't have something in your life to balance that out, you're on a fast track to disaster and a price you _won't _want to pay."

"Don't tell me what I want," she snapped as she stood to her feet. "You don't even know me."

"You're right; I don't. But I know that thing that's inside of you."

"Is that supposed to make me afraid of you?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up, but his eyes where dark and unreadable. He put his hand under her chin and stroked his thumb along her jaw. "That depends on how well you know me."

Her eyes narrowed into a look of pure hate. If she was intimidated, she certainly didn't show it. She took a step closer to him. "I've had men a lot scarier than you much closer than this. And guess what." She leaned in a bit and dropped her voice to a whisper. "They're all exactly the same."

"If it makes you feel better to think that, you go right ahead. It doesn't change anything."

He saw her hand come up, but made no attempt to block it. Instead, he turned his head with the force as her palm connected with his cheek, hard enough to leave the resounding _crack! _echoing in the room.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" she demanded.

He took a small step towards her, but didn't touch her. That thing inside of him was alert and alive again. Just that easy, she had its attention. And he knew he had hers. His heart was beating faster as he slowly looked back up at her, feeling the blood pulse in his veins.

"Do you want me to tell you? Or show you?"

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a bewildered look, she finally shook her head as if in disbelief. "You really think you're different, don't you?"

He lowered his head slightly as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but kept his eyes locked on hers. "I _am _different," he whispered.

The force of that statement alone could've created a reality or broken it.

She hesitated, studying him, a myriad of emotions passing through her eyes. The same dumbfounded confusion he'd seen when he'd sprayed her with the hose on the kitchen sink, and the same anger she'd shown when they'd dragged her plan out into the open. There was more, too - emotions that were probably as unfamiliar for her to feel as for him to see in her. Fear and vulnerability, wonder and curiosity. He was an enigma, and the things he made her feel were frightening in their intensity.

"Don't fight it, Bev," he whispered. "For once in your life, just let yourself feel."

"This from the man who's standing here telling me that feeling isn't worth the cost."

"Getting lost in that darkness isn't worth the cost. But I'm not going to let you get lost. You can count on that."

"What if I want to get lost?" she challenged. "Feeling isn't really feeling if you think about it and control it."

"You don't have to. I'll do it for you if it comes to that."

She studied him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then, finally, she leaned forward, pressing her closed lips against his. He didn't move, just waited. Her jaw was clenched, every muscle in her body tight. But slowly, as she stood there, she relaxed. Only then did he return her kiss, sliding his hand back to her cheek as he moved the other to pull her against him.

She slowly raised her hands to his chest, pushing them up to his shoulders. Closed kisses turned to soft, hesitant open ones. When she finally opened fully to him, he explored her slowly, gently. Her arms slid around his neck as she pressed against him, relaxing in his arms.

He moved her back towards the bed, not stopping until the edge of the bed was at the back of her knees. Gently he pushed her back, following her. Lips parted, breathing ragged, she kept her eyes shut. But her hands were moving over him, along the side of his face as if she was trying to paint the image in her mind based on the feel of him.

There was something oddly intimate about the way her hand moved slowly, thumb tracing his brow, his cheekbone, the side of his nose, his jaw. She was exploring him. As he leaned down to kiss her, he let his hands explore her as well, stripping her clothes and his own, never quite pulling away from her.

He left warm, soft kisses along her collarbone as he moved his hand down, between her thighs. "Open," he whispered.

She complied, opening her legs for his hand and her eyes for his gaze. There was emotion in her gaze, in overwhelming amounts. It wasn't love, or anything like it. And it wasn't fear, exactly. Apprehension and need and desire. A form of fear, but not of him. Not of what he was doing to her. It was deeper, far more protected beneath layers and layers of nonchalance and bitter anger that he could somehow see straight through.

"Relax, Bev."

She shut her eyes again, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself. It was the most defensive posture she could possibly take with her legs splayed open. He let her have that comfort, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head, but didn't speak. Setting a light kiss on her jaw, he moved down her body slowly until, finally, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. She didn't make a sound as he explored her. But very gradually, the muscles in her legs began to untense. One fraction at a time, as long minutes passed, she was relaxing.

He heard her sigh, and smiled as she pushed a hand back into his hair, holding him gently as she made a small sound - little more than a whimper. He let the subtle changes in her natural taste guide him as he brought her up higher. The slow pace of her breathing was increasing, staggering. Finally, her fist tightened in his hair, all of her muscles tensed as she arched her back, and the taste of her suddenly grew more complex. Her muscles were spasming, and although she barely made a sound, he knew for a fact that one wasn't fake.

He kissed her thighs, abdomen, navel, breasts, working up to her neck before he finally slid inside of her wet heat. Her mouth was open for his kiss. Her sweat on him, her taste in his mouth, her body wrapped around him was more than he could even hope to understand. Moving in her and against her, he lost all sense of time and self. He was only aware of the sensations and feelings. Safe, warm, primal, basic... Had sex ever felt like this with any other woman?

He was sweating, panting with effort. He wanted it to last forever, but he was so close that edge. And somehow, that cliff seemed higher than ever before. She gripped him tighter, nails digging into his back as she pulled her legs up around his waist and held him tight. Her breath was hot against his lips, panting just as hard as he was, her mouth playing against his but never quite kissing.

Unable to speak and barely able to breathe, she moved her body in rhythm with his, watching his eyes as she tightened down around him hard. His eyes rolled back as he groaned and felt himself fall. She held him tight - nails in his back, legs around his waist, inner muscles clenching him. As the waves of pleasure washed over him, he could feel her kisses falling on his jaw, his neck.

Finally, she relaxed her grip on him, letting her legs drop to the bed, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder blades. She didn't rush, didn't speak, and he opened his eyes to see her searching him silently. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts, then leaned down to nuzzle her gently.

"You know, if we keep doing this," he whispered, "I'm going to find it very hard to send you on your way, knowing I'm never going to see you again."

She stared up at him with a look of pure confusion, brow furrowed. He chuckled softly as he brushed her hair back from her face.

"You wouldn't believe how often I get that look."

"You wouldn't believe how rarely I give it."

"Spend some time with me and you'll get real used to giving it."

Very slowly, she moved her hands down his back, all the way to his hips. "This feels nice," she admitted. "But it's temporary, too."

"No." He smiled knowingly, tipping her head up so he could kiss her brow. "This may be the one thing in the world that isn't temporary."

"What is this?" she asked. "And please don't tell me you're in love with me."

He chuckled. "No, I'm not in love."

"Then what?"

He tipped his head down to study her carefully. "Trust," he said quietly. "Safety. This is everything that balances out that darkness, and keeps it from destroying you."

She didn't answer. He moved off of her, pulling her in close as he rested on his side. After only a brief hesitation, she pulled in close to him, tucking her head under his chin.

"Hey, Bev?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever gone sky diving?"

She hesitated. "I never felt so inclined."

He chuckled. "Hmm. Well, I guess I can come up with something else."

"For what? A second date?"

"Technically, it will be a _third _date. We blew up a dozen boats on our second date. Man, that's gonna be hard to beat."

She glanced up at him, curiously. "So, three dates. That makes this... what? Dating?"

"Dating?" He pondered the thought for a moment. The English language had so many terms, and yet none of them really fit what he felt for her. Why not "dating"? "What do you say? You wanna date me?"

"Depends." Her smile turned to more of a smirk as she leaned closer to him, her lips barely brushing his ear. "Think you can do what you just did again? Or was that a onetime deal?"

"Think I can? Darlin', I _know _I can. And for the record I believe that was not the first time tonight."

She chuckled quietly as she leaned in closer to press her lips against his again.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

Face awoke slowly. There was sunlight peeking around the edges of the thick curtain, the fan on the wall humming as it blew cool air from outside. A warm body in the bed with him. Jessica, naked and pressed to his side, still asleep with her head on his shoulder. He smiled. No place else he'd rather be.

The clock on the bedside table read 7am. He needed to get moving. But he was comfortable and content and relaxed. There was no reason to break the spell just yet. He stretched, then turned to let his hands run over the woman beside him. For a few moments he indulged himself with a few fantasies and memories of her.

"Jessie..."

She moaned softly, but didn't open her eyes. Stroking her hair back from her forehead, he gave her a good morning kiss - firm, but not at all demanding. He waited for her to respond before closing it and pulling back.

"Good morning, Jess."

She smiled, eyes still closed, and snuggled closer to him, stretching her arm across his chest. "If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up."

"I'm going to take a shower," he whispered. "If you want to join me, I suggest you wake up."

She moaned again. "How about you just stay right here with me instead?"

"I would. But I told Hannibal I'd wrap this up today. I think the Venezuelan jungle has lost its charm."

She breathed deep, her chest rising and falling as he kissed her forehead. "I'll drop you off at the airport," he whispered. "I need to keep the car until this afternoon."

"Mmm... I could stay with you until this afternoon."

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not?"

"The whole part about the gun runners and the blood feud kinda suggests it's not someplace I want to take you to."

"Hmm."

"You're welcome to join me in the shower, though."

She smiled, eyes still closed. "I left my handcuffs at home."

He chuckled. "Well, in that case, we'll just have to improvise."

*X*X*X*

Travis was at the office earlier than usual. Meeting with the elusive Tom and his too-good-to-be-true deal was more than enough motivation to have him at the club at 8am. He was hoping his contact had left a message about just who in the hell the guy was. But even if not, he needed to get his bearings back before he met with the guy again.

He had set up a meeting with his security team. Somehow those morons had screwed the tail job. What in the hell was he going to have to do to these idiots to make them wise up? He needed to make sure his guys were in place at the airport and that they understood the importance of not losing track of that cold hearted bitch. There wasn't a chance in hell she was getting out of this alive. She was going to pay and pay dearly. The thought of her screams had him smiling as he unlocked his office door with the security team trailing behind him.

The second he entered the outer office, he knew something was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place. But still, something instinctive told him that his privacy had been violated. Something just wasn't right. Pulling his gun, he jerked his head to guard standing closet to him.

"Take my key and open that damn door."

He wouldn't put it past Tom to figure out some way to booby trap his office. When the guard touched the knob, Travis took a step back, half expecting an explosion. Any relief he felt at that fact that nothing blew up was quickly replaced by cold hard fury as he stepped inside and looked around his office. The safe was wide open the door hanging off its hinges. One quick glance and he could tell it was empty.

Mother fucker! Information on _all_ of his accounts, both personal and business, and two-point-five kilos of almost-pure coke were gone. Shoving the stunned security team out of the way, he moved to his desk. It was still locked nothing touched. Why crack the safe and leave the desk? The desk was easy in comparison. Then his eyes caught the plastic wrap sitting on the sink in the wet bar. The crazy son of a bitch had dumped the coke.

Travis could feel his anger growing stronger by the minute. Whoever had done this knew exactly what they were looking for. Beverly was the only person who would have any reason to know about those papers in the safe, the only one with reason to want them.

She was going to _burn _for this!

"Who the _fuck _was watching the club last night!"

There was no hesitation. Four big men stepped forward. "We didn't see anything Mr. Travis."

"No shit, you fucking moron! Get me the god damned security film."

The big man in front of him squirmed. "The camera broke, Mr. Travis."

"The camera broke? The camera _broke_! Someone got into my office and blew up my fucking safe and that's all you've got? The camera broke!"

Before any of them had time to answer, Travis brought his gun up half way and fired. The bullet met bone and cartilage, spraying blood as the man fell screaming to the floor, hands over his open kneecap. Moving around his desk, Travis stopped over top of him and put his foot on the man's neck, hard enough to block any air and keep him from making any more noise.

"Here are the facts," he addressed the stunned team. His voice was flat and deadly serious. "You will divide up like we planned last night and if Beverly Richard gets away. I will hunt every one of you down like the dogs you are and introduce you to a whole new concept of pain. Do you understand?"

No answer. He felt the anger boil up again as he raised his voice to a yell.

"Do you fucking understand me!"

Amid the nods and answers of, "Yes sir," Travis stepped off the man's neck.

"Get him the hell out of my sight," Travis ordered. "And all of you get the fuck out of my office. Go do your fucking jobs."

They were gone as quickly as they could, dragging the injured man with them. Only his two personal guards hesitated. "I said all of you!" he yelled. "Get out. Now."

They left quickly, and he took a deep breath as he walked to the safe. His entire operation's financial records and two and a half kilos of cocaine, gone. He hit the door of the safe so hard it bounced back and hit the cabinet. He still hadn't quite managed to calm down enough to sit at the desk when a timid knock on his door interrupted him.

Furious at the persistence, he threw the door open with his pistol already in hand. "What part of 'get the fuck out' was so hard to understand?" he yelled, gun raised at the man outside. "For your sake this damn well better be good."

"Uh..." The man looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Shifting uncomfortably, he swallowed hard before explaining himself. "There's uh... a guy on the phone for you. He uh... called the main line. Says his name is Tom and uh... he says it's real important."

He winced, as if waiting to die. Tom. Just that name made Travis see red. He and that cunt had lured him and most of the security out of the club. Now they had his money and his guns.

"Get out!" Travis ordered, waving his gun at the scared man. "And make sure everyone knows, anyone who opens this door will get one between the eyes."

He slammed the door without waiting for a reply. Storming over to his desk he grabbed the phone and hit the main line button.

"What do you want, Tom?"

He fought to keep his temper in control. It did him no good to let Tom hear how enraged he was. If the man was planning something, the less he said the better. The voice on the other end of the line was easily recognizable.

"Turns out your girl Beverly was playing both ends against the middle," Tom said.

Tom sounded almost as angry as Travis felt. Startled, Travis remained quiet and listened. This wasn't how he'd expected this conversation to go.

"I've got her. And if you want her, you can have her. Under one condition."

The catch. Here it came. Travis growled. His hand clenched the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "What condition?"

"She took some papers that are very important to me, and she's not saying where she hid them. I hear you're good at getting people to talk."

Even through his anger, Travis couldn't help but feel a smug satisfaction at the fact he'd been right. That whore would play everyone and everything around her to get her way. She'd make accomplices out of people who didn't even know how much they were helping her - like Tom. He should've put a bullet in her years and years ago.

"I don't want the bounty," Tom continued. "I want her to talk. And I want my fucking papers. You give me your word on that and you can have the bitch gift wrapped."

Travis could hear Beverly in the background. "I told you, I don't have them!"

She sounded like she'd been crying. It brought a smile to Travis' face. It was just the first of many cries he would hear from her.

"You turn the fucking bitch over to me and I'll have her begging to tell you where your papers are at." It was a harsh promise. One that he was looking forward to keeping.

"I'll meet you in the parking lot, same as yesterday."

"I don't -"

Another attempt at protest from her was silenced by a yell from Tom. "Shut your trap or I will tape it shut!" Tom growled into the phone. "I'm gonna give her something to knock her fuck out. It'll take a few minutes to work. I'll meet you in an hour?"

She was his. Travis could taste it, and damned if revenge didn't taste good. "Don't give her too much. We need her awake and fully able feel pain."

"Oh, you can count on that."

It was the last thing he said before the line went dead.

*X*X*X*

The plan was working better than Face had hoped. For a careful man, Travis had let his personal feelings and anger override common sense. Face had had been in place before the phone call. Then it was just a matter of neutralizing Travis's advance security teams. That part had been ridiculously easy; good help was hard to find. Eight men in two separate cars were currently tied up and "resting" rather uncomfortably in the stairwell.

With his arms folded across his chest, Face leaned on the trunk of the car. When he heard the throaty rumble of an eight cylinder engine coming up the ramp of the deserted parking garage, he stood up straight and dropped his arms, clenching his hands at his side and slipping into character.

The door of the limo opened almost before the car had come to a complete stop. Stepping out, Travis turned back to speak to his bodyguards, whom he left inside.

"Stay there," he ordered. Face could hear both the anger and the underlying excitement in the man's voice. "If anything goes wrong, shoot everything that moves."

Well, now that was just overkill.

Travis shut the car door without waiting for a reply, and Face watched as he took a long drag on his cigarette. He was eyeing Face with a smirk, but there was both anger and anticipation in his voice when he finally spoke.

"I hear you got something that belongs to me."

"And she has something that belongs to me," Face said flatly. "She's in the trunk if you want to do the honors. Frankly, I don't even want to look at her anymore."

He tossed the keys to Travis, who caught them automatically, and stepped around to the side of the car. Travis watched him with a brutal grin. "The bitch had help. Who was it?"

He was fishing for information, wanting to know if any of her help was from Tom's team. He wanted his financial records - the ones Face wasn't supposed to know he was missing. But Face didn't flinch.

"What do you mean, she had help?"

Travis snorted with laughter. "For a smart man, Tom, you don't seem to know much about what goes on in your organization."

Face raised a brow, but didn't respond.

"Someone on your team helped that cunt take what was yours." He pointed at Face for emphasis, and his smile grew more smug. "Maybe even someone you were counting on for backup."

Face kept his expression flat and cold. "Well, then I trust, per our agreement, you will get that information out of her. 'Cause I'd love to know who it is."

Travis' look was nearly one of lust at the thought of what he was going to do to Beverly. It was apparent it was more than just business with her. He was going to enjoy it immensely. Face kept the smile hidden under the mask of anger. Boy was this guy in for a surprise.

Moving to the trunk, Travis put the key in the lock, talking as he turned it. "That's the thing about men like us, Tom. We always have to remember to watch our backs."

"Men like us," Face repeated. "I'll remember that, Travis. Men like us should never be caught off guard.

Face stepped away from the car as the trunk opened and the man opening it suddenly found himself nose to nose with an AK-47. Frankie sat up in the trunk, grinning widely, but only so far as he could while still keeping the gun steady.

"Well, hello there. Today the part of Beverly will be played by yours truly, with the aid of one of your very pretty guns from a three million dollar shipment that you won't be seeing again."

Right on cue, Face was behind Travis, stripping his weapons. Travis stood still; looking down the barrel of an assault rifle tended to do that to people. Not even turning his head he growled.

"You know you're all dead men."

His guards should be coming. After all, he had ten of them on standby. He would be banking on the two in the limo being plenty for now. Face could see him tense when the limo door opened, ready for either a standoff or a gunfight. What he was not prepared for was a clipped British accent coming from the direction of the limo.

Closing the driver's side door behind him, Murdock sauntered over with his hands in the pockets of his uniform.

"Sorry old bean, we seem to have encountered a bit of a problem. Your two valiant men-at-arms appear to be locked in the back of your bullet proof limo. Rather a spot of bad luck, I'm afraid."

Travis's brow furrowed in anger and confusion. "Who the fuck are you?"

Smiling benignly, Murdock answered, "I come at the behest of the Queen." He gave a formal little bow and came up with a Colt 45. That, he pressed in to Travis's nose. "She wishes you to be locked away in a dungeon for a rather long time. It's my sovereign duty to the crown to comply with Her Majesty's wishes. Don't you agree?"

Travis growled. "You'll all pay for this."

"Save it," Face said dismissively. "We already know the routine."


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

Face gave a quick, shrill whistle, and a glance towards the stairwell as Beverly emerged. She was dressed to kill in celebration of her ultimate victory. As her heels clicked on the pavement, Face shoved Travis' gun into his own belt and reached into his pocket for a neatly folded paper.

"Now, you will be going to jail." Face glanced around him, quickly assessing his surroundings. Frankie was getting out of the trunk. All seemed perfectly according to plan. He cleared his throat and began. "The charges will most likely be gun trafficking - and all related charges so that includes racketeering, money laundering, wire fraud - as well as assault, pandering, numerous gun violations, tax evasion and..."

He smiled at the look of pure hate on Travis' face, then continued.

"Well I guess it depends on just how much they can find about your _other _areas of operation and just how cooperative you are. A good DA would throw in a rape charge or two, extortion, kidnapping, false imprisonment..." He glanced at Bev, smile still in place, as she came closer, then at Murdock. "Have I left anything out?"

Eyes burning with rage, Travis turned toward Beverly. "I'll be out in 48 hours," he threatened, hate filled eyes locked on her. Travis had no doubt the years of bribes and buying official and maintain contacts in DC would serve him well enough to keep him out of prison. Hell, he could probably run his business from inside prison, if he really wanted to.

"My lawyers will have these bullshit charges tied up for years. By then I will have butchered everything and everyone you ever cared about. While you watch."

Beverly stopped beside Face. Hands on her hips, smoothing her miniskirt, she watched with an ice cold stare as Frankie tied Travis' wrists behind him. The sound of the guards in the limo banging on the windows and doors in an attempt to get out made Face smile; but Beverly had no such response. She only watched him coldly.

Finally, she glanced at Face, then noticeably at the gun tucked into his belt. "May I?"

Face hesitated.

"Oh, never mind. I'll use my own."

Face had no time to react. In a flash, she was armed, the tiny derringer ready and pointed directly at Travis' head. Where had she been hiding that? Tense and caught off guard, Face watched her silently not moving. Damn it, if she shot him, it not only wouldn't fix the problem here, but it would rack up another murder charge - this time with two witnesses in the limo who would be willing to testify against her.

"Bev..."

Face was careful of his tone, not quite a plea, not quite a warning. Travis didn't move. His eyes were still burning with anger, but he stood stock still as she took a few slow, even steps toward him, high heels clacking on the cement. She didn't stop until she stood nose to nose with him.

Travis wasn't prepared for the blow. She hit his jaw with the grip of the gun, hard enough to send him stumbling. Face wouldn't be surprised if she'd knocked a few teeth loose in the meantime. Still steady on her feet, she grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked it down, driving him to his knees. The blood was already pouring from his mouth, and the cut on the side of his face was impressive too.

As she pushed the barrel of Travis' own gun to his forehead, towering over him, Face tensed again. He could see the emotions play across Travis' features. He could also see the second it clicked for him. Beverly could very well kill him right now. She wasn't bluffing. Then, and only then, did the fear come.

"You killed Andre," he said, his voice muffled by both the blood and the fear.

Her reply was flat, completely lacking any hint of emotion. "Andre was a bastard. Just like you."

Travis swallowed hard, set his jaw, and faced his fear head on. Murdock moved a few steps closer, very slowly. "Let me ask you something, Tom. Did you pick her or did she pick you?"

Face didn't answer immediately, considering the question. "I don't see how that really has anything to do with it."

"Oh, it does." His eyes narrowed as he glared up at her with pure hatred. "See, a _good_ whore knows how to make her clients come to her. How to not just _find _a good thing but keep him satisfied once she's got it. But a _cheap whore_ has to be tied to the fucking staircase in order to -"

She didn't let him finish. The gun was off his forehead and past his teeth before he could get the rest of the sentence out. Murdock moved. By then she had him flat on his back, her knee on his chest, the gun so far into his mouth he was gagging. Murdock had a hand over hers, not stopping her but drawing her attention. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she'd do it if she wanted to.

"Don't," Murdock said softly. Face could barely hear him from where he stood, watching quietly. "Kill him and somebody else just takes his place. Just like Andre."

Still as the grave, Beverly's jaw clenched, but her hand stayed steady.

"He's going to jail for a very long time," Murdock continued. "And nothing good is going to happen to him in there. Just let it go. Let me take it from here."

She remained still for a long moment, then slowly loosened her grip on the gun, leaving it in Murdock's hand as she pulled away. As she rose to her feet, Frankie took a step closer to her, reaching up to put a concerned hand on her shoulder. She jumped back.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Hands raised in surrender, Frankie stepped away.

Murdock stood, withdrawing the gun from Travis' mouth. He grabbed Travis' hair to help him up, and shoved him in Face's direction. Travis tripped and fell forward. Hands behind his back, there was no way for him to break the fall. With a meaty thud, he bounced off the concrete and then laid stunned on the parking deck at Face's feet.

For a moment, Face locked eyes with Murdock. He'd expected an overreaction from Bev. He hadn't counted on it from Murdock. If they left Travis here beat to a pulp, his "I was framed" defense would have that much more of a chance of sticking. Neither of them spoke, just exchanged a look so intense, it was almost unfathomable. To Face's relief, Murdock finally gave him a small nod. Stepping back, he cast once last glance at the man on the ground, then turned his eyes to Beverly.

Face resisted the urge to look at his watch. He already knew they didn't have much time. They needed to wrap this up and get the hell out of here before the police showed. The feds had already been notified; the locals were a 9-1-1 call away.

"Beverly, use the phone in the limo to call the cops. Frankie, grab the duct tape so our friend here can stay quiet."

*X*X*X*

Murdock watched Beverly as she moved hesitantly towards the limo. He was there first, opening the passenger door for her. Then he went to the driver's side and sat down. Face and Frankie could handle Travis for now; he needed to focus on Bev and getting his own shit together. Still upset, he was had to work to contain his anger.

It wasn't the words Travis had spouted off. It wasn't even the fact that Bev was going to kill the man. It was that look; the one that flashed for a second and then was replaced by that cold hard darkness of hers. That look of pain seemed to reach right inside of him. That look had him seeing red. It had him needing to stop the thing that caused it. The sheer intensity of his reaction, although he'd managed to control it, had left him startled and confused. Just a few more emotions he didn't have the time to deal with.

The first thing was to make sure she was alright. He waited until she had placed the call and put the receiver down before he moved, into the passenger seat beside her. Turning to face her, he watched her carefully as he gently put his hand over hers.

The reaction was instant. She jerked her hand away with a cry of, "Don't!" but stopped herself before she went any further. He left his hand where it was, and didn't speak.

Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and put her elbow on the door, holding her head in her hand. "I'm sorry." Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her.

"Don't be." He stopped for a second, trying to organize his thoughts. They didn't have much time and he wanted her to understand. "You just faced down a monster wearing a human suit. You got a right to be tetchy."

He wanted to touch her. But he stopped himself. Whatever the hell had happened in her past, it meant that right now she wasn't able see human contact as comfort. Some fucking animal had taken that from her too. It took a concentrated effort on his part to push aside the anger that blossomed again.

Time was racing past.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine." She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. "I just need to get out of here. Before I shoot his ass and you're mad at me."

He felt himself giving her a small smile. "It would be a little tricky seeing how we got just about ninety seconds to get out of here before the five-oh come running in. Besides he's not worth ruining your Hawaiian vacation over."

She gave him an empty look, and he smiled wider. "Maybe you could send him a postcard? Just address it 'to Travis, care of hell.' It'll find him."

Finally, she managed a tight smile.

He jumped out of the car and went around to her door, opening it and holding his hand out to her. "Come on, Bev. Let's get the hell out of here."

She hesitated a moment, then took his hand and stepped close to him as he shut the door behind her. They had to get out of there. Travis was tied and gagged, the murder weapon hidden under the front seat of the limo where the cops would surely find it. All of the documents on the money were in a folder on the hood, along with a map of where the guns could be found, weighed down by an AK-47. Everything was in place.

She stood still for a moment, her eyes lingering on the folder. Murdock watched her, saying nothing. It was like watching someone mourn at a funeral; there was nothing to say. Except, unlike a funeral, there was no time.

"Bev..."

Slowly, she dragged her eyes up to his. Then, without a word, she leaned into him, kissing his lips slowly. She wasn't shy; she didn't hesitate. He didn't either. As his arms came around her, everything else faded for a moment. It was just her and him and that natural, comforting feeling. He knew they had to go, and knew they were being watched. But he also knew it was worth the few seconds to exchange whatever the hell it was they gave and took from each other.

She didn't pull away even as the car pulled up beside them and Frankie leaned out the window. "You two coming?"

Reluctantly, Murdock closed the kiss; bringing his hand up to her face, stroking his thumb along her jaw. Leaning in close he whispered in her ear, "Assault, kidnapping and bringing down an entire gun running operation. Looks like date number three was almost as much fun as two."

The smile she answered him with was genuine.

*X*X*X*

They weren't out of the parking garage before Bev leaned over, took Murdock's face in her hands, and kissed him deeply. His response was instant, and he didn't resist as her hands slid down his chest, around to his back, up to his shoulders.

The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. She could feel it. It felt like fire. She heard the tires squeal as they peeled out onto the road, but she had other things on her mind. She smiled into the kiss as she reached down and rubbed her hand firmly against the front of his khakis.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, tipping his head as he kissed her jaw.

"I'm sexually assaulting you," she whispered back, into his ear. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

He laughed quietly and put his head back. "Okay, just checking."

She didn't stop. The two men in the front seat notwithstanding, her intentions were very clear, and he wasn't stoppin her. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, only vaguely aware of the sirens as the line of cop cars passed in the opposite direction.

"Uh, Face?"

The tension in Frankie's voice suggested that he had realized what she was doing. But, ever casual, Face either didn't notice what was happening in his rearview mirror or he simply didn't care.

"Yeah?"

"How long of a drive is it to the airport?"

Murdock's hands slid under the back of her thin, loose shirt as he whispered into her ear. "I'm all for driving to Hawaii."

"It's an island, stud," she whispered, raking her teeth. "But maybe you could fly us there. Join the mile high club?"

He groaned. "Sex _and _flying. That's something I've never done in the cockpit."

"First time for everything."

Frankie didn't turn to look in the back seat. He probably didn't dare. Instead, he spoke to the windshield, looking straight ahead. "Uh... you do remember this car is a rental, right?"

Beverly shifted, trailing kisses across Murdock's throat to the other side of his neck. "They can bill me."

He moved away from the door, giving her room to straddle him and sliding his hands up her bare legs, underneath her skirt. His fingers found only skin, and she watched his eyes as she unclasped his belt and lowered his zipper, raising up just enough to push his slacks past his hips.

The sound of it elicited an immediate reaction from Frankie. "Aw, geez... Man, I _really _hope we don't get pulled over."

Face chuckled. "Well, if we do, the seatbelt violations will be the least of our worries."

Murdock's eyes slid closed as Bev closed her mouth over his, grinding down on him for a moment before taking the time to position more carefully.

"Yeah, how fast are you going?" Frankie asked, leaning over to look at the speedometer. "Maybe you wanna slow down some?

Bev sank down onto him with a sigh in his ear. "Oh my god..."

"I'm going the speed limit. Trust me, Frankie, nobody's got any interest in us."

Hands under her shirt, lips on her neck followed by teeth... She could barely breathe for the pleasure of feeling her body joined to his. She held his shoulders, rocking with him, not making a sound except the quiet little gasps and staggered breathing.

"Well, at least we know how to get him to stop talking." Frankie's attempt at sounding amused wasn't quite pulled off. "How many laws are they breaking?"

"Not enough," Bev gasped. Her eyes darkened as she met Murdock's gaze and grinned. "Yet."

"I think we just broke Newton's third law of physics," Murdock gasped, thrusting to the rhythm she set. "Wanna try of a couple state and local statutes?"

She laughed quietly as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. "We are so going to hell..."

"No way," he whispered back. "This is heaven..."

"Do I need to take the _long _way to the airport?" Face asked. "Or can you two wrap it up in about five minutes?"

Murdock's hands slid up her back, caressing her soft, smooth skin. "Lady's choice."

Bev was breathing hard on his neck. She smiled as she turned her head to whisper in his ear, too low for anyone else to hear. "The lady wants you to fill her with your cum so she can remember you all the way to Hawaii."

Murdock groaned, and she smiled. She knew from the sound of it that he'd never had a woman talk to him like that.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bev..."

Face laughed. "The short way it is."

"Ya know," Frankie mumbled, "I just got a feeling this is _not _going to end well."

Bev was sure this was going to end well.

"You like that?" she whispered, clearly pleased.

"Hell yeah..."

She was tightening and releasing as she moved over him. In the cramped seat, he didn't have much room to move. He didn't need it. She moved enough for them both. She slid her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, still rocking with him.

"This is the exit, am I getting -" Face cut himself off. "Never mind; Am I going to the airport or am I going around the block?"

"The airport," Frankie answered. "Please."

Murdock moved his hands to her hips, trying for leverage. Gasping for breath, he grabbed her neck with his teeth, trying to hold her in any way he could before one final thrust put him over the edge. She tipped her head to meet his eyes, lips parted and smiling like the devil as he came inside of her with a barely audible gasp. Lost in that dark gaze, he brought his hand up to the back of her head, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her into a slow, deep kiss as the pleasure washed over him and he slowly eased down.

They were almost at the terminal. With a smile, Bev climbed off of him. He spent a moment trying to put himself back together with weak fingers. "So how long do I have to stay in Hawaii?" she asked.

"At least a week, to be safe."

When he glanced up at her again, she was sucking on her index finger. She smiled as he watched her, dark eyes studying her like a lion watches a gazelle. "You keep that up and I'm not going to be able to get myself zipped."

She laughed. "That could be interesting."

Finally redone, he leaned over and kissed her again. "I think I owe you one, and I'll be thinking about some very creative ways to repay you."

She grinned like the cat that just ate the canary, but didn't say a word.


	29. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

San Lucino was little more than a shantytown, if one could even call it that. A couple of the residences made the hootches in Vietnam look like upscale houses. A bar and a marketplace complete with wild chickens comprised the "downtown area." When Hannibal and BA had arrived - voluntarily split up from the rest of the team for a mission that didn't require all five of them – it had taken precisely three hours to assess the situation, and another four to neutralize the threatening "vigilantes" who were interfering with Stockwell's operations. In the past week since then, Hannibal had been enjoying peaceful, uninterrupted, unmonitored bliss, sunning himself with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other while BA taught the local kids about the wonders of baseball with a stick, and fruit that splattered everywhere when one of them actually managed to hit it. What a way to spend a mission.

It had been a surprise to see Face, Murdock, and Frankie arrive, just a few hours ago. Their past week had apparently not been so relaxing. Hannibal listened quietly to the story.

"We left Travis in the garage and stayed another 24 hours to spread the word around that he was gonna roll on the operations. We figured his partners won't exactly take kindly to that." Murdock sat back in the chair across from Hannibal. "The feds were called so there's no chance he'll pay off the locals and get out. They've got all his transactions with the money he stole, his fingerprints on the clip inside the murder weapon, and two witnesses to say he killed Andre. He's going to jail for a long, long time." "Did he?" Hannibal asked.

"Did he what?"

"Kill Andre."

Murdock looked at his bottle of beer and then met Hannibal eyes. "No. He's killed a lot of people, but Andre wasn't one of them."

"That was your girlfriend's doing."

"Andre committed suicide, as far as I'm concerned."

Hannibal studied Murdock for a moment, quietly. It was clear from his matter-of-fact tone that he had no regrets about framing Travis for murder. Murdock was not particularly violent or bloodthirsty. If he had no remorse, there was more than likely no need for remorse. And if Face had gone along, with nothing to be gained, it was only further confirmation that Travis had gotten what was coming to him in the end.

"The thing I can't understand, Colonel," Murdock said quietly, "is what Stockwell had to gain from all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"He brought her here. He wanted something with her. When she killed Andre, she ran. He tracked her down, went all the way to Hawaii to bring her back, and then he just cut contact. He never told her what he wanted."

"Well, maybe it didn't have anything to do with Andre or Travis. He might have just wanted you involved in the first place."

Murdock frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

"We're assuming he knew her history when he brought her there, and that he had a reason for sticking her in the apartment next to yours. But maybe all he wanted was for you to clear those charges off of her."

Murdock stared. "What? Why? How could he possibly know that I would even get involved? Or be _able _to?"

"Maybe he didn't know. It might have just been a shot in the dark."

"Stockwell doesn't seem like the type to take shots in the dark. Besides, if he wanted the charges cleared, all he needed to do was pull a few strings. Why get us involved at all?"

"All I'm saying, Murdock, is that if he's got a plan, there's another part to it. He'll show his hand soon enough. The only choice you really have to make is whether or not you're going to continue being involved with her, knowing that he could be using her as a pawn for something or another. Not to mention, she hasn't exactly proven herself trustworthy so far."

Murdock shook his head and took a hasty swallow of warm beer, wishing all the while that the water was safe to drink here. "You think cutting her off is an option at this point?"

"I'm not saying cut her off. I _am_ saying that you need to consider just how involved with her you're willing to be. That in and of itself _could _have something to do with Stockwell's plan."

Murdock was quiet for a moment. Finally, he set his bottle down with a soft clink. "I don't know what this… this thingwe have is. I just know that it feels right, somehow. It's not love, it's just… It's like there's something in me that changes when I'm around her. And I like it. It feels like… me."

Hannibal shrugged. "Well, whatever Stockwell wants with her, it may not have anything to do with her. It'd make more sense if it's got something to do with you."

Murdock looked nonplused, distaste at that very idea evident. "Why? There's no way he could've known that. Besides, the man likes me about as much as I like him. And he knows as long as he has you guys, he's holding all the cards."

"Just saying, Murdock. His connection to you is more obvious than his connection to her. Unless she's not telling you something, which is a distinct possibility. Either way, I'd wait and see what Stockwell does. Because he's up to something, but trying to pry it out of him is a no-win situation. Better at this point to keep your own cards close and let him pull them out."  
Hannibal watched as Murdock's desire to know ran smack into the reality of the situation. He wasn't going to know what Stockwell had planned until Stockwell was good and ready to tell him.

Leaning forward, Murdock let out a sigh. "You're right," he conceded as he grabbed his beer bottle again. He was trying to force himself to relax. "Nothing I can do." His eyes closed for a second, then opened again. "But I got real bad feeling about this."


End file.
